


The War of Beliefs

by Liker_tequila



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drama, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-28
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-03-10 10:23:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13499964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Liker_tequila/pseuds/Liker_tequila
Summary: "She is not so bold anymore. He is no longer so vain. The War has changed everyone. Or just let them to be who they really are?”This is the translation from Russian.Author: Mia ColdOriginal: https://ficbook.net/readfic/5568197





	1. Hogwarts Express

She was staying, turning her face toward the sun, that was spilling through a glass roof, and hardly constrained a smile. As if she was afraid to believe that war is finished, that it is possible to stop fearing, that Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead.

Voldemort, Hermione quickly corrected herself.

It was easy not to think about him during last few months, which she had spent at home, with her family. After Kingsley's appointment to the Minister of Magic post, he had sent the best Obliviate-specialists to her parents before long, who helped Mr. and Mrs. Granger to put their memory in order.

But standing here, at the King's Cross Station and absorbing in itself voices of young wizards, an owl's hoot and noise of the train, which was releasing puffs, Hermione had again automatically remembered previous year. As in a kaleidoscope, she saw pictures, which quickly replaced each other under her closed eyelids: Bill and Fleur's wedding, patronus, the dark house at Grimmauld Place, the forest mushrooms gurgling in a kettle, blood on the hand, insane laughter; Harry, who was keeping the House-elf on his hands; Ukrainian Ironbelly, Fiendfyre, kiss with Ron in the Chamber of Secrets ...

She shook her head, trying to get rid of the swept memories. What's wrong with her? Where is the trembling of seeing the big red train? Where is the excitement which agreeably tickles her back? Where is that girl, who was looking at the magic world with wide-open eyes like spellbound? The answer is too simple and short.

She had grown up.

Who is she now? She is Hermione Granger, the muggle-born witch, who has missed one year of education in Hogwarts, rushing over the woods in search of Horcruxes. She has first grade Order of Merlin, considerable gratuity for special achievements in the war, famous name, dazzling near the names of her friends almost in all newspapers, tens invitations for work to the most different departments including the Ministry. But who is she really?

She is just a girl without completed education, shuddering from any loud sound.

It is a shame to admit, but she imagined "A great Victory over the Dark Lord of all time" otherwise. The War has left too strong impression. And does she have anything to complain about? She is the only one, who hasn't lost relatives. Her closest friends are alive. The enemy is finally licked the dust. It is strange, but Hermione didn't think of death at all — her brain graciously protected her from these thoughts, allowing to keep the mind remains.

That's all. That is in the past. After all, if to look sensibly, everything is fine really. Now she has one more final year in Hogwarts. Anyone who missed the last year, as well as anyone who did not pass the NEWT, can go back there. That is, all her fellow students. No, for sure many people will not return. Someone thinks that the OWLs is enough to get a job in this life.

Someone, but not Hermione. And although the offers for work flowed like water, she has resolved to achieve everything without assistance.

So naive, she sniffed.

It is possible to think, that her name would not mean anything in just a year. Now she understood Harry, who was shouting in the Hog's Head that he was just lucky. As all her accomplishments, which were so vividly described in Daily Prophet, are exaggerated, to put it mildly.

Having opened her eyes, Hermione looked at her watch. It's fifteen minutes to eleven - the guys were always late.

Crookshanks discontentedly spitted in the cage.

"Be patient, Crookshanks", she whispered tenderly, "Soon we'll go and then I'll let you out."

But where are they?

Hermione began to look around nervously.

In the distance, Neville quickly tramps holding Luna by her hand. With one foot already stepping in the train, he notices Hermione, smiles and raises his eyebrows, inquiringly gesturing with his free hand, saying, "Where's Harry and Ron?". Hermione shrugs her shoulders and frowns expressively. Making it clear that she doesn't know. He laughs and draws the companion behind him. She smiles serenely and like in a dream follows him.

The heart is immediately filled with warmth. That's what it was worth fighting for! It is enough to look at these two. The way Neville has changed is impossible not to notice. It seems that even the boyish clumsiness disappeared in him.

When Hermione came to this conclusion, her gaze caught the movement to the right. Turning her head, she almost bursts into laughter - a big toad jumps on the platform. Trevor. Without hesitation for a second, she rushes to grab it, but after making a couple of quick steps, she already understands that she will not have time. The tall young man bent down and nimbly raised the fugitive in her stead.

"It ran away, did'nt it?", none other than Blaise Zabini asked.

What? Seriously? Hermione's eyebrows themselves crawled upward as he continued to smile imperturbably.

"It's not my toad, it's Neville. But thanks," having taken the loss in her hands, she decided, that it is not necessary to be rude. In the end, Zabini was more than courteous to her. And this frankly was somewhat confusing.

"Well, good journey," he smiled again and stepped away.

Hermione nodded uncertainly, unable to squeeze out the answer. Did he help her? He smiled? Slytherin? The one who hates her a priori, and even more after the outcome of the war? What a bullshit.

She involuntarily watched him leave. He went to Malfoy and said something to him. But Hermione's gaze fell farther, then the Slytherin couple stood. Finally, her shoulders relaxed, and a smile played on her face. Two men ran into the platform, out of breath. Dishevelled black and fiery heads. Hermione rushed to her friends in anticipation of a hug and to read a lecture to such strong delay.

***  
Slowly looking around the coach, Draco once again wondered what the hell he had forgotten there. It makes him sick of the memory of how McGonagall, clutching her already thin lips, let him continue his education. After the trial at the Ministry, he often caught such indulgent-accusing views. They were like shouting: "We are so kind, appreciate it, you owe us everything!" Although, it is necessary to admit, he often caught bastard-you-must-die-in-Azkaban gazes. And many people said worse things without hesitation.

Draco wondered to whom he has to be really obliged. Of course, on the first place is his mother. Only she could say with a look: "Ignore everyone and live on.". He amazed at how she was holding herself in her arms. His father perished in prison without parole; most of the family's property was confiscated by the Aurors; half of the accounts in Gringotts were frozen "until the circumstances became clear.". But her mother stands: tall, pale, with her head held high. And only through the eyes you can see how it hurts. Definitely she is on the first place. He promised her to be quiet as a mouse and humbler than dust. And he will try to keep his promise.

Next - Blaise. After the trial, he was the only one who came to his estate. The one who communicated with Draco on an equal footing, and did not look, as if he was mud under his nails. It's amazing how the students on the platform hid their gazes from the Slytherin students.

Well, I'm not so interesting after the Dark Lord's defeat?

There is one more person to whom he is obliged. How it was humiliating to admit, but he is obliged to Potter.

I am obliged to freaking golden boy.

Draco is not an idiot to deny the obvious. He is obliged to him by his own life. And he should stop pretending that he thinks about it for the first time. He learned to admit his mistakes. Even if through his teeth. But it will wait. The express hasn't passed also a half of a way yet.

"Blaise, about what you were prattling with Granger?" he asked, dispelling these thoughts from himself.

"Longbottom lost his toad, and I helped her to catch it," the friend shrugged his shoulders.

"Apparently you have nothing to do," Draco rolled his eyes and stroked his owl idly.

"What? She is not bad, maybe I will get something from the heroine of the War," Zabini's lips stretched out in a dreamy grin.

Draco snorted. The whole Potter's gang everyone called as heroes now.

"Are you kidding?"

"Well, she's not stupid, famous, and apparently she isn't as scruffy as before. You're not blind and you've seen everything by yourself," Blaise shrugged again and stared out the window.

Of course, he has seen. Once at the Yule Ball. The second is at the Slughorn's party, briefly. And of course, last year, when she was at his estate. Then Draco especially noted how she had changed. Maybe it was her clothes. He used to see her only in school uniform and dense mantle. Well, a couple of times in Hogsmeade, but it was a long time ago. Now she has jeans by shape, light shirt, but she has a habitual nest on her head in which leaves are stuck. But even among this nest the face was visible: the features became more delicate, the cheekbones - sharper, the eyes - more expressive. And everything would be fine if these eyes did not have such horror, and after a couple of minutes her neat lips did not utter a cry, full of pain.

Draco made a wry face. And after that he needs to think about Granger as a girl? No, thanks.

The compartment's door opened and the curious Pansy's head looked inside.

"I'm not interrupting you, boys?" she asked quietly and glanced at Malfoy.

Since when she has such uncertain voice?

Everything would be fine, but Draco did not want to spend time with her company. He stood up and opened the door, letting her in.

"No, you will not disturb, I'm just leaving," he said and slipped out towards the corridor.

Maybe he should have been softer. It's silly to believe that she didn't communicate with him of her own free will. After the Dark Lord's downfall, many people were quiet, like mice, not showing their noses from their holes. She is the one who used to eat out of his hands before, but in court she averted her eyes. Therefore, resentment has not gone anywhere.

Draco stared out the window, watching the landscape change into huge fields, some of which remained burned. He was ready to stand this way until the end of the trip, if only no one came to him. And to ignore hateful views became a habit long ago.

Suddenly a creak was heard from the left. Turning around, Draco saw an old witch pushing a handcart with sweets.

Let everyone go to hell! It is better to deal with everything at once and not to return to it again.

Raising his eyes for a moment to the ceiling, he lagged along the coach to the opposite direction.

***  
"I'm going to starve to death," Ron complained, pushing Pigwidgeon aside. It has flitted around the compartment, happily chirping, "Shut up!"

Harry looked absently at him, pulling his mantle on, but Hermione did not even turn herself away from reading the Prophet. Changing clothes to each other for so long did not seem to be something embarrassing. Six months ago they spent the night in one tent.

"Is there anything interesting?" Harry asked, nodding at the newspaper.

Hermione raised her eyes.

"There is new list of prisoners. There are no famous people among them, so without details," she sighed, putting the publication aside.

"I don't understand why we are going," Ron grumbled.

Harry and Hermione exchanged an understanding glance. Of course! They remembered how irritable was Ron when he felt hungry.

"Because, Ronald," she began to instruct, "without NEWT, your chances of finding a decent job are almost equal to zero. And you shouldn't rely on your name. During the work, you still have to show what you're good at."

"So you think I can't do anything?" Ron flared up instantly.

"No, I did not mean that," Hermione tried to make her voice softer, "Just what should be obligatory in the school curriculum isn't quite identical to your real knowledges."

"I'm going to work in the store with Fred and George. They certainly will not check whether I have passed NEWT and whether I passed OWLs at all," he said and fell silent, "With George, I mean."

Harry suddenly became very interested in his boot tips. They have never discussed it. Hermione felt a pricks of conscience. Evidence at the endless courts in the Ministry was not available for discussion, and at the summer spent at home, she received no more than ten letters from Ron. Hoping that this gesture would not be inappropriate, she covered his palm with hers.

In the silence that followed, there was a knock that made Hermione to give a start from surprise and she instinctively gripped her wand. Embarrassed, she put it back in its place.

What a fool I am, she mentally scolded herself.

Harry stood up and opened the door, and Hermione almost instantly noticed the surprised expression on his face. Who's there? She didn't see because of Ron.

"Potter, we need to talk," familiar cold voice said, but without former arrogance.

Hermione and Ron looked at each other.

Did he just forget something here?

"What do you need?" Ron snapped out, as if reading her thoughts.

There was only silence in response. Without commenting on the statement of his friend, Harry silently stepped out into the corridor and closed the door behind him.

"What does he need?" Ron repeated his question, looking at Hermione, as if she knew the answer. Red spots appeared on his face.

He fells angry. That's the limit!

She shrugged deliberately and again took Ron's hand. It seems that it has distracted his attention. A few minutes later Harry returned completely confused.

"What did he want?" Hermione softly asked, passing ahead of Ron's exclamation.

"Malfoy thanked me for helping him get out of the Chamber of Secrets and for saying a word about his mother on the court," Harry answered hesitantly, slapped his eyes a couple of times and shifted from one foot to the other.

Under the shocked stares of his friends, he flopped down on the seat.

***  
Hermione did not interfere in their conversation, trying to get distracted, but it seemed that they had been discussing this for ages. They constructed theories, analyzed each word spoken by Malfoy and his facial expression, and discussed what consequences this would entail. There were different options. For example, he wants to regain his reputation by using the Harry's name; he is going to watch them and then to stab in their backs; he wants to avenge his father ... But the most idiotic thing that Hermione had heard - he wants to continue Voldemort's affair.

Her patience has run out. Unable to stand, she jumped to her feet and cried out: "Do you really have nothing to do?! Damn it, Voldemort's dead! Malfoy is a coward! We have a calm year for a long time! We have a year to devote for study and nothing to bother!" her hands were shaking, "Let's live at least one year like normal people!"

Hermione could barely restrain her angry tears. Her friends stared at her in shock, not uttering a sound. This was not the first time, by the way. She stamped her foot and rushed out of the compartment.

Why, why do they complicate everything? They did not have enough adventure? Is it really impossible to spend the last year quietly like the most ordinary students?

Hell, Hermione even turn down the post of head girl for not to get into anything! She just wanted to learn, walk around Hogsmeade, sit in the library, take examinations, rest in the living room by the fireplace, have fun, as it should be for her age, watch this stupid Quidditch, after all! Doesn't she deserve it?

Screwing up her eyes, Hermione covered her ears with her hands, as if afraid that Ron and Harry would run after her, starting to change her mind. She leaned her forehead against the glass and started to count.

One... Guys are just trying to be on the alert.

Two... Is not that what Mad-Eye taught them?

Three... But the War is over!

Four... You never know what's watching for you around the corner.

Five... There is nothing more to be afraid of.

Six...

A large hand lightly touched her shoulder.

She jumped unexpectedly, noisily drawing in the air. Her eyes opened wide, and her hand enfolded the wand.

Blaise recoiled and raised his hands in a conciliatory gesture. Hermione's shoulders relaxed.

"Sorry..." she muttered, removing her hand from the shaft, and with an effort of will gave to her voice a tone of polite detachment, "did you want something?"

"Are you okay?" Zabini slightly knitted his brows, looking at her.

"Yes, everything is fine," Hermione has lied, lifting her chin and straightening her shoulders, "I just decided to warm up. So, you wanted something?"

"I was just standing there," Zabini waved his hand to the left, pointing to Malfoy, who, leaning against the wall of the couch, captiously was examining his fingernails, "when I saw you run out of the compartment," he seemed uncomfortable, "but I didn't mean to frighten you."

"You did not frighten me," Hermione knew for herself how improbable it sounds, especially as her voice quavered traitorously. And he saw when she had run out.

Appallingly!

But what's the difference in principle? This is Zabini, Malfoy's henchman! Why is she even justified? But if she really decided to lie, then to the end.

"Everything is fine."

Zabini for a while turned his eyes away, quickly thinking something out, then abruptly turned and blurted out: "Would you like to spend the rest of the way in our compartment?"

Hermione blinked. She seemed to hear it? He invited her to the Slytherins coach?

"Er...", she hesitated, "Zab... Blaise, I don't think this is a good idea. Scarcely my friends will understand me, and no one from Slytherin will want to see me."

"I will want," Zabini nodded confidently.

Hermione bit her lip, not knowing what to say. Here's again. He is polite, he smiles and looks friendly. What's all this for? And... Is she embarrassed to refuse? Oh, well, doesn't she think that her refusal can hurt him! Why should she have to worry about this at all?

Hermione always loved Ginny, and when she appeared in the aisle, she was ready to kiss her. Turning to Zabini, Hermione made a helpless gesture with her hands, as if to say "there's nothing to be done", grabbed Ginny's arm before she starts asking questions, and pulled her in the compartment.

Approaching her friend's ear almost at the very door of the couch, she whispered quickly: "Don't say anything to the guys, I'll explain later.", it was enough not to complicate the situation.

And she entered inside, avoiding the surprised look.

***  
"You... What?"

"I have invited her in our compartment. So what?" Zabini looked at the student's icy face, frowning.

"What the fuck, Blaze? And you did not want to ask me before that?" Draco did his best not to be angry. Vainly, of course.

"I did not invite her to you, but to myself. Parkinson decided to go to Daphne, so the compartment is free. In my opinion, you were not going to come back."

Malfoy clenched his teeth in silence. Of course, he was not going to. Especially, after this humiliating conversation with Potter. Draco was too excited to talk to anyone. Not in the nearest future.

But he must give Potter due - he didn't pose as hero, did not stick out his chest, showing his superiority. Just nodded and muttered something like "take it easy". Fuck it, is this easier? It was his phrase that made Draco even more angry. Or to feel his selfishness?

Of course, he was just trying to keep Malfoy from being embarrassed, as if to say "anyone would do the same, there's nothing to talk about".

That's just the point, Potter. Not anyone.

Before shaking his hand, Draco involuntarily experienced a nasty deja vu. Once upon a time, it seems, it was in a past life, he held out his hand to Potter in the same way. Now the hero of the War did not disdain - he has taken a handshake. Maybe a little stronger than it should be. But fast enough not to delay the whole situation.

"Relax. I'm still thinking whether there is any sense to adhere to her. She's kinda antsy," Blaise looked at Granger and Weasley, the girls just disappeared behind the doors.

Draco hemmed. Of course she was antsy. He would have looked at Zabini after a couple of hours alone with Bellatrix.

"Okay, let's go," he said quietly, and without looking at his friend, he stepped toward the compartment.

***  
The rest of the way was more or less calm. Harry and Ron did not push the what-is-he-up-to issue again and avoided Hermione's gaze. After the Ginny arrival, Neville and Luna came up. And then Dean and Seamus. Neville was very happy to meet his toad. It was very crowded, but the situation was exhausted. If there were disputes, but only about Quidditch, and there's no object. So, from the train they were already leaving with the big company, laughing and discussing the coming year.

It was wet on the platform, the train let dense puffs out into the dark, the air seemed heavy. As always, Hagrid met students and, not caring about propriety, immediately grabbed Harry in a bear hug, wailing as he was glad to see him. The same fate was awarded to Ron and Hermione.

Reminding the giant that he was waiting for first-year students, the company went to the carriage with the rest of the students. Listening to the conversations, Hermione realized that the main theme today's evening was whether to restore the castle. She often thought about it. The founders have built Hogwarts for many years. Even scary to imagine the scale of destruction.

"Ginny, do you think the library did not suffer?" Hermione got into the conversation.

Ginny laughed loudly.

"Who about what, and you about the library! Do you really think that the battle has reached it? There are only shelves, it is impossible to turn around there," Ginny smiled, "How would we learn without books? I'm sure it's all right there."

Oh, if only... The Eaters could just have fun to set fire to everything there. Books about Dark Arts are still in the forbidden section, but why do they need the rest? There were rare ancient books, scrolls. Perhaps in a single specimen!

"Don't worry like that, Hermione," Ron gave a voice, "you've already read all the books there."

Everyone laughed. Hermione smiled, and remarked silently - she's still the same know-all in the eyes of her friends. But now it unpleasantly hurt.

The crowd thickened, the conversations grew louder. Looking around, she noticed that the students had properly decreased. Red and green ties were the least. Probably some died, others hid.

"Germione...", Ron opened his mouth and looked at the carriages. She followed his gaze, "Do you... see this, too?"

"Oh..."

She first saw these incredible creatures, and they looked exactly the same as described in the book. Black skin, an extended muzzle looks like a dragon, eyes with white pupils slightly shine in the dark, wings are folded along stringy body. Thestrals.

Hermione has flown on one of them, but could not even imagine what a sad beauty they have.

The students began to turn to Ron's exclamation. For a couple of minutes, the night filled with silence.

His hand was already involuntarily reaching for the face of the nearest animal, as a bitter laugh and a familiar voice pierced with sarcasm: "Are you seriously, Weasley? Do you think no one can see them?"

Draco Malfoy was standing leaning against a large tree, and his lips curled slightly in a grin.


	2. Great changes

The oak doors of the Great Hall swung open, forcing the students to stop in amazement. Five-six candles over every student, being in the air, were now blazing. The walls became brighter, the ceiling reflected the night sky, the stars appeared through thick clouds. On large tables, the polished dishes shone with golden blinks, and between the renewed flags of the faculties, the ghosts flew lazily.   
As if there was no War.  
Home sweet home, it was Hermione's first thought, as soon as she stepped into the hall.  
Together with her friends, she went to the Gryffindor table and, taking a seat near the center, she began to look around with usual attentiveness.   
Of course, definitely there are less students then earlier. Fortunately, only undergraduates. It means that the majority of juniors could avoid the worst fate. Although, many of them remained orphans.  
“Where is Hagrid?” Harry looked around worriedly.  
“I doubt that something happened to him while he was accompanying the first-year students.” Ginny responded with a shrug.  
After examining the teaching table, Hermione noticed two new teachers - a young black-haired girl and a middle-aged man, with hair trimmed in a tail of medium length and with heavy chin. His face seemed vaguely familiar to her. Hagrid really was out. Professor McGonagall was sitting on the director's place.  
Well, this is quite expected.  
Nodding to her thoughts, Hermione turned to her friends. Her gaze fell on Neville, who, without sitting down, was standing next to Luna and holding her hand, unwilling to let her go to another table.   
Hermione smiled at that again, and her eyes slid a little farther. Blaise Zabini at the Slytherin table, staring at her without stopping. What does he need?! Malfoy occasionally threw an irritated look at him and twisted a fork in his hands while Parkinson was whispering something in his ear. Hermione quickly turned away and buried herself in her plate.  
What's happening? Maybe she has got dirty?  
Hurriedly taking the silver knife, she quickly looked at her reflection. No, it seems that everything is all right. Slightly brushing her hair, Hermione put down her knife and immediately stumbled upon Ginny's surprised look. She raised her eyebrows and slightly opened her mouth, staring at Hermoine, then at Zabini. Shaking her head slightly, Hermione turned to the door.   
Fortunately, the others were not as observant as Ginny.   
Damn, if only she did not express in her head any wrong assumptions. It's necessary to talk to her after dinner. Hermione hoped that her girlfriend had enough tact not to talk about all this with Harry, and even more with Ron, until she won't find out what's going on. Rather, that nothing happens.  
The doors of the Great Hall swung open again. Hagrid came in, holding a large old hat in one hand, and a stool in the other. After him the first-year students were mincing, nervously and enthusiastically looking around.

***  
Does Potter have enough brains not to tell his buddies about Draco's act? Of course no. Self-deception is a fine occupation. But judging by the bitter experience - it's completely useless occupation. Even harmful.  
Malfoy frowned. It's dead certain they mock at him. What is he in their eyes? Ashamed? Miserable? Probably.  
Whatever. He does not have to create a family with them, but only to see each other in class. Just one unhappy year. In any case, this year will be more pleasant than the previous two. He'd rather endure mockeries and contempt than constant fear.  
Draco thought about his mother again. What she has to outlive, she accepts with dignity. Even the crowd of Aurors who had fallen into his Manor, she politely greeted with an icy voice and quietly opened any door they asked. With an impenetrable face, she watched the artifacts of his father were taken out of the house, which he had been collected for years. No protest, no angry speeches. Draco admired her. He wonders if she feels herself humiliated at such moments? Judging by her state, it's impossible to say so. He wanted to believe that he looks the same.  
But not his father. On the court, he tried to fawn on judges, betraying his former allies. Again and again he repeated how he repents, telling about his few correct actions, hiding behind his wife and son and his affection for his family. Pitiful sight.  
The Sorting Hat began to sing its new song, and it diverted Draco from his reflections. Only now he realized that Pansy put her hand on his elbow and whispered something busily. Apparently, she took his detached view as attentiveness.  
“Forget all the nightmares of past dreadful years,  
We’re ready to teach everyone,  
An ancient school, which was opened again,  
And students together at one…” the Hat was singing.  
“...don't get me wrong, Draco. These months were also a nightmare for me. But now my parents can’t disturb us”, Pansy reached to his ear, squeezing his hand lightly, “The whole year together, and then I'll think something out. I'm an adult, after all. They will calm down during this time, maybe even change their mind. What about this?”  
“…Hogwarts hasn’t seen such changes,  
Neither a year, nor hundred ago,  
Let’s erase the borders of notions,  
Let’s correct the former ignore!..” The Hat continued.  
“Don't you think it's not the time and the place to discuss this?” Draco squeezed his jaws and unobtrusively removed his hand, turning from Pansy away. Even with the back of his head, he felt her indignation.  
Even if she thinks what she wants. All he wants now is to eat and go to bed. But no, in the dungeons, the first day never just goes that way. Even the tired and squeezed like a lemon Slytherins won't fall asleep until they have thoroughly drunk. This is some kind of tradition. Blaise brought firewhisky every year, starting with the fourth year. The first day at Hogwarts, Christmas, Halloween, victory or defeat in Quidditch - it doesn't matter. Sometimes even without reason.  
“…Close your eyes to old disagreements,  
‘Cause together, forgetting the flaw,  
You are able create the community,  
And forget about the War…” this year it got excited.  
After a couple of minutes, the Hat was still silent. The sorting has begun. The giant was shifting from one foot to the other and smilingly peeked into the faces of first-year students.   
Oh, Merlin! He would have rushed to hug them!  
Draco rolled his eyes. He has never understood where this affection comes from.  
Only three students got to Slytherin. Most got to Hufflepuff.  
McGonagall has stood up.  
“I'm glad to see you. For first-year students – welcome! For the rest - welcome back! Who does not know, my name is Minerva McGonagall, since this year I'm the headmaster of Hogwarts School and also the teacher of Transfiguration.”  
Did she write down all of Dumbledore's speeches? Too obvious imitation.  
“I promise, just a few words, and you can start eating. I am glad to introduce you two new teachers. Professor Moore is the new teacher of Muggle-studies.”  
The young girl stood up and smiled gingerly. While the guys at the one with Draco's table were joking about her name, he tried not to think about the fate of her predecessor Charity Burbage.  
“And Professor Krum, he is new teacher of Defense against the Dark Arts.”  
A man of rather rough appearance stood up and nodded briefly. Draco could easily imagine a Dark Mark on him and a mask of Death Eaters - he really had a look at it.  
Everyone began to whisper curiously and turned to the Gryffindor table. The look has found Granger by itself. She was sitting with her head bowed, but her expression was clear - she didn't know anything. It's even weird. Usually she is aware of all the events.  
It's clear that Skitter didn't lie - she exchanged her Bulgarian for this miserable misunderstanding. Potter - is okay, but redheaded… Draco shivered.  
“I will no longer exhaust you with expectation.” surprisingly, McGonagall smiled quite sincerely. “Let us begin the feast!”

***  
Elfes as always pleased - the tables crammed with a variety of food. All students, almost without interruption to the conversation, ate like wolfs, but Hermione was decently picking a meatloaf with a fork. The dishes were amazing, but the food stuck in her throat. She always caught curious looks, and Zabini stared at her outright. Occasionally even Malfoy looked at her.  
Next time, I should sit with my back to the Slytherin table, Hermione decided.  
How could she know about Krum? Victor did not say anything like that in his letters. And anyway, maybe they're just namesake.  
As the plates disappeared, the conversations grew. Hermione listened attentively. Seamus, clasping his hands, exclaimed: “But how?! How will you pull it a fast one?”  
“I'm telling you, Harry thought it all over.” Ron repeated it, irritated.  
“Damn, if only I knew that you were not sure, I would have done everything by myself.” Seamus, not concealing his disappointment, pushed the plate away from him.  
“Stop complaining, everything will be okay!”  
“Seamus, don't reveal the aura of mystery.” Ginny giggled and laid her head on Harry's shoulder. “Do you really doubt that it is not his speed?”  
Hermione looked up.  
“What are you talking about?”  
“You know…” Ginny started cautiously, “we are at the last year of our education, we must celebrate it! I heard that Slytherins celebrate it every year, and also I've heard the same stories from Fred and George. Just Muffliato spell on the bedrooms - and no junior student will hear anything, and in the morning the Elfes will clean all up.”  
Oh, I see. They decided to get drunk, but I'll find out about it at the last moment. And apparently, I shouldn't have known at all about this. But I'm not even a Prefect! That's how they think of me! It hurts, these thoughts rushed through her mind.  
“Harry, don't say that you've decided to use Konversum Vinum*.” said Hermione in a deliberately calm voice.  
“What?” Harry looked up at her.  
“I mean, it's very difficult to turn water into wine, most often this spell is very weak. And without practice, usually produces a simple grape juice.” she continued, turning a spoon in her hands for dessert and hoping that the following words would not sound guilty, “If you told me beforehand, we could carry the alcohol in my purse. If you don't remember, the Extension Charms is still cast on her.”  
Everyone exchanged glances. Hermione, trying to hide her satisfaction with the effect, started eating a pudding.  
“You really don't mind?” Harry could not hide surprise in his voice.  
“Ginny is right, this is our last year, and I'm not going to sit on the sidelines.” Hermione decided not to mention that she had learned several spells against the hangover in the fifth year, just for fun.   
“Great news!” Ron even jumped in place and, beaming with a smile, continued eating the cranberry cake.  
To be honest, Hermione was not inspired by this idea. She is very tired and tomorrow everyone needs to wake up early. But she was very hurt that all those sitting at the table were sure that if she did not interfere, she would at least give a lecture about the harm of alcohol, outing until late night, and other delights of such parties. Yes, it is not wise to get drunk before the first school day, but, after all, she is not a sanctimonious person! And who prevents to drink in reasonable quantities? Moreover, she can always slip off to her bedroom.  
“However, how are you going to get alcohol?” she suddenly became curious.  
“I have one idea ... but I don't think that you will approve it.” Harry hesitated.  
Hermione frowned.  
“Okay, to be honest, I got this idea when I thought about the Malfoy Manor…”  
There was a ringing fork on the glass. McGonagall stood up, calling for silence. Harry was broken off, and Hermione turned away from him. What does it matter how he plans to get contraband? It is hardly more difficult than to penetrate Gringotts.  
“Professor Dumbledore once mentioned that complex information is perceived easier on satisfied stomachs.” the director stressed the word "easier" and looked at the students. “Well, it's not for me to doubt these words. His advice has never failed. I hope that, in the light of recent events, even the youngest of you have grown up over the years, so I expect that you all will perceive with understanding the news and that, what will follow it.”  
McGonagall paused, giving time to uncomprehending glances and whispers. Or maybe she was going to summon her courage.  
“As you know, the castle was badly damaged. Let me remind you that first of all, Hogwarts is a school, so the main forces were thrown to the restoration of classrooms, library,” Hermione gasped at these words, “as well as to the restoration of greenhouses and infrastructure. I regret to inform you that the Quidditch field had to be rebuilt, but the work is still under way, so all the matches will be postponed until Christmas. The captains of the teams will be informed about the details of the matches.”  
A general sigh of disappointment was heard from the audience.   
McGonagall continued: “Alas, not only the Quidditch field suffered. The Daily Prophet described in detail all the destructions. For those who have not read or witnessed these events, I will recall that the bridge was blown up, the Great Hall was smashed,” she scanned the room with her hand, “almost all the classrooms, kitchen, stairs, as well as the towers of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. Dungeons predictably were not affected.”   
Professor was standing with a straight back, looking at the quite students waiting: “The towers have not been restored, so the Hogwarts Board decided to merge the faculties into common premises.”  
The whisper in the hall went into a rumble. Some of students, not hesitating, were showing their discontent. Others loudly overconfirmed the first, that such integration would be even amusing. Seamus and Ron, it seems, resented only the possibility of canceling the upcoming party.  
Waiting a couple of minutes, McGonagall continued: “I specify that this is also a temporary measure. By the next academic year, both towers will be fully restored. I hasten to reassure you that only the living room will be common, the bedrooms are still distributed among the faculties. The premises were enlarged, so there is enough space for everyone. The Ravenclaw students will live with Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor - with Slytherin.”  
The hall just exploded. The most peaceful were the Hufflepuffs - it seems that they were not at all embarrassed by such a turn of events. The Ravenclawes exhaled in relief, and they can be understood. But to settle Slytherin and Gryffindor together! Do they want to make the Third Magical War?  
The Gryffindor table was loudest. Forgetting about propriety, the senior students expressed themselves loudly and indecently, throwing vicious glances at their future neighbors. As if they were to blame! The Slytherin table was quiet enough, not considering the dissatisfied hiss.  
Snakes, Hermione wrinkled her nose.  
McGonagall did not interfere with all this farce. In her eyes, there was not even a drop of disappointment or condemnation. Well, of course! She is not stupid, but such a reaction is quite expected.  
Hermione suddenly became ashamed for her faculty. Of course, this is not the brightest prospect, but there are worse things. Why is it necessary to behave oneself like a savage?  
Director again a couple of times knocked on a glass and, waiting until the voices a little abate, seriously added: “It was on this distribution that the Hogwarts Board insisted, and the teachers unanimously supported this decision. I think everyone will agree with that fact, that it's time to forget the War. I hope for your wisdom. Slytherin and Hufflepuff prefects will accompany you to living rooms. And now - good night.”  
The food from the tables disappeared. The students stood up and began to crowd.   
“Oh Merlin!” Ron complained. “From the tower - into the dungeons, live in the Slytherin room, see them every day! It’s a failure!”  
“Didn't you think that you would be given a separate room as a hero of the War?” smiling, Hermione needled him, taking Ginny's arm.   
“It would be nice.” Ron rolled his eyes dreamily. “I think that would be fairly”  
“A lot of honor for you, redhead.” said Zabini almost without malice, going up to the Gryffindors and looking them over. “We will manage without preludes and encouraging speeches. Come along.”  
Surprisingly, he didn't look at Hermione longer than the rest of students. She exhaled with relief. So Blaise is the prefect? Although, it is not surprising. He studied really well, his reputation was stainless, his family didn't gleam in the newspapers.  
It was very unusual to go down the main staircase, and not go to the native tower after the dinner. And Hermione was not alone in her thoughts. It seems that everyone was in some confusion, however, each of them expressed it in their own way. Harry was silent all the way thoughtfully, Ron frowned, Ginny walked as if it was necessary, but her fists were clenched. Dean whispered to Neville.  
Hermione was caught up by Seamus. For some time, he walked silently beside her, and a couple of turns later he gave a voice: “Is everything canceled?” he quietly turned to Harry.  
“No way! We will wait until they disperse, we will cast Muffliato and Colloportus spells on their bedrooms, and then, as we have planned.” Harry answered quietly but surely.

*all spells not mentioned in the book are Latin mixed with the author's imagination.


	3. Acquaintance with the other side

Draco got into the living room just behind Blaise and came to a standstill, as stunned. Why did someone have to disfigure the place where he used to spend most of his free time! The room has almost doubled, and now it seemed like a caricature in a cheap magazine. On the left, everything remained as he remembered: fireplace, two large leather sofas of emerald color, several armchairs, bookcases, tables, behind which one can quietly do homework and ...  
The exact copy of all this is opposite.   
In a disgusting burgundy-gold gamut. Upholstery of red sofas is made of fabric, tables are lighter and easier, books in cabinets are not as many, but on the shelves there is an abundance of candles and all sorts of knick-knackery. The whole situation literally screams about what must necessarily be cozy here. Too fake, the taste of any Slytherin.  
On both sides of the room - the same staircases, apparently to the bedroom. Oh, yes, the organizers of this disgrace carefully spread the stone floor from the Gryffindor side with a large soft carpet. Of course! Unaccustomed to the coolness of the dungeons, golden lion cubs can freeze their precious heels.   
“Blimey!” Nott cursed.   
“Salazar turned in his grave,” Draco softly muttered, took off his robe and, throwing it on the chair, headed to the sofa.  
Sitting normally, he examined the crowd of Gryffindors. Even curious what will happen next.  
Potter stepped first. Without a word, he went to the fireplace, looked around and sat down on the sofa. Redhead as a doggy - next to him. Junior students exchanged their glances and quickly minced to the stairs.  
That's right, there's nothing to stare.   
Potter's girlfriend sighed, raised her head and went to her hero. Her behavior even reminded Draco of Narcissa, so straight was her posture. Longbottom tramped a little at the entrance, after that, along with the rest students, he settled down on the couch. The whole gang looked at their leader.  
Draco wonder if they can go to the toilet without his permission?  
Only Granger stood stockstill at the door, still not daring to go. She examined the living room, namely, the green side. What's wrong? Too gloomy for the heroine?   
Draco suddenly felt uneasy. Her glare...  
For a moment, meeting with his eyes, she clenched her lips, put her arms around her forearm, her nostrils widened slightly and she quickly turned away, pulling herself together.   
Something bad happened in his stomach.   
Has she remembered Bellatrix? Of course, this is not forgotten, but what excites such memories in her now? The walls of the dungeon or the presence of Draco here? Both, maybe.  
But the strangest thing was that Granger (Goddamn it, Granger!) became confused. How is this even possible? As well he remembered, she was always calm, even when after the tortures she had to transgress, not to mention such trifles as passing the exams.   
Draco turned away hastily. He shouldn't change into Blaise. He can think about this later. Or don't think at all.  
Yes. Don't think is definitely the best solution.  
Potter has also understood everything, it seems. With a jerk, he jumped up and, at the moment, approached her, gently squeezed her shoulder and gently pointed to the Gryffindor couches. Granger shuddered and, looking at him with gratitude, followed him as he spoke in her ear.  
“Such a mummery,” Pansy giggled, “They say that they are all brave enough.”  
Suddenly it was the wish to wave her away as if she were an annoying fly, but she already hurried to get close to him and now she was meticulously spreading the lap of her uniform skirt.   
“Well, what shall we do?” Greg gave a voice.  
“They will not be here all night sitting,” Daphne answered and took a quick glance at Blaise. He was watching Granger, but, thank Merlin, unobtrusively.  
“Maybe we should urge them?” Theo smiled slyly and shouted: “Hey, Potter! How about you, huh? Not too luxurious for the hero?”  
“Hardly worse than in Azkaban,” he shrugged indifferently.  
Thorn in their side?  
What does he know about Azkaban?! Draco clenched his jaw, but decided not to meddle in it. He promised. He promised his mother.  
“What's it to you? You were not there, were you?” Goyle hissed maliciously.   
“Me? Oh right, I haven’t been there.”   
“Oh yeah, you're a saint,” Nott grimaced.  
“What’s your beef?” Redheaded jumped up.  
This will rather provoke a Muggle fight, than banish them away, Malfoy thought.  
“Of course, not!” Pansy opened her eyes wide, mocking her hands, as if she were surrendering, “It's such an honor to live with the heroes, we don't even know how to behave ourselves!”  
It seems that only the stubborn Weasley didn't understand her sarcasm.   
“Trust me, the dungeons are not the limit of dreams. You don’t even have windows here,” Potter began to get annoyed.   
“Oh, what a pity! How are you going to take night mail from your fans!” Theo exclaimed, portraying horror.  
Potter clenched his fists.  
“What are you on about?” Longbottom interrupted.  
“Oh, you are just occupying our living room, what’s the big deal!” Daphne snorted.  
“It's like we asked for it!” the mug of the redheaded became covered with spots, making him look like an ogre, “We'd better be settled with the Hufflepuff!”  
“Of course, you just need to devour for free, and there's a kitchen in two steps,” Goyle snorted.  
“I think you would have preferred Hufflepuff for the same reason,” Potter countered.  
“Hey, you!” Greg stood up, clenching his fists.  
Enough.  
“Enough,” Draco raised his voice slightly.  
The Gryffindors didn't even turning their hair, still glowering hostilely at the green couches. It's Slytherins ... Goyle obediently sat down, Theo leaned back on the sofa and also fell silent. Pansy looked at Draco with such trembling that this made his teeth creak. Blaise was completely unruffled. The others looked ... cautiously.  
Fuck, seriously?  
Defeated, former Death Eater causes fear with a disgusting reputation, among the fellow students? Why should everyone be frightened? Definitely not his "threatening" appearance. For a month and a half in Azkaban, awaiting the verdict, he lost a lot of weight, he has bruises under his eyes and his face was gray. Moreover, Draco was always more relaxed in the dungeons than in any other part of the castle, and now he looked almost at home at all. His hair was slightly uncombed. He has already taken his robe off and rolled up his shirt sleeves ...  
Oh, so that's it.  
The image of the snake on his forearm lazily twisted, skirting round the skull.   
Are they all idiots? After the Dark Lord's death, this is just an insignificant picture. Rubbish. Goyle and Nott just must know that!  
“It's not necessary to pretend that no one understands why everyone is wasting their time,” Draco grunted, “I very much doubt that our valiant neighbors decided to read books at midnight.”  
Potter looked at him doubtfully, and Blaise seemed to be planning to solve this problem peacefully.   
“Well…Okay,” he rubbed the bridge of his nose and looked at Potter, “I understand that this situation is not the best. But whether you like it or not” he looked at the Slytherins, “we all have to live together.”  
“Don't live, holy Merlin, but to be in the same living room,” Thomas corrected him irritably.  
“It doesn't matter. I suggest you to deal with this right now,”   
“What do you mean?” Potter stepped toward the middle of the living room.  
Blaise looked at the puzzled Granger and headed for the Gryffindor sofas, but stopped, not stepping on the claret carpet. It was shrewd from his part not to break the boundaries.  
“Elementary. We have five firewhisky bottles and a box of butterbeer. We're going to relax.”  
“What are you doing?!” Nott attacked, “They will surrender us!”  
Blaise didn't even turn his head in his direction. Potter nodded.  
“Is this not a problem for you?” Zabini raised his eyebrow.  
“No,” Potter turned to his gang. Thomas, Finnigan and redheaded nodded slightly, the others didn't move, watchful, “We have the same plans.”  
Wow, this is something new. Drunk Longbottom? This can’t be missed, Draco involuntarily burst out laughing.  
“The heroes know how to have fun, really?” Daphne narrowed her eyes suspiciously and gracefully ran her palm over her blond hair.  
“And who among us thinks prejudice?” Granger gave a quiet voice, rolling her eyes in a picturesque way.  
Zabini smiled faintly at her, and Draco could hardly suppress the vomiting of this picture.  
“To avoid bickering, we can use the Caterwauling Charms on both sides,” Potter continued.  
Well, this is a reasonable offer. But then the opportunity to watch an unforgettable spectacle will be lost. It seems that Blaise thought the same thing. Or maybe, about Granger.  
Of course, it will be easier to deceive her if she would drunk, Draco thought.  
“I think McGonagall is right, and we are all,” Zabini said with a push to the last word, “able to do without it. Leave it to the last resort.”  
Potter nodded once more.  
Such a diplomat, damn it.  
“You're on!”  
“But I don't see that he has something,” Theo intervened, “Or you hide the bottles under your robe, Potter?”  
He looked at him irritably and turned to Blaise.  
“This is our business. All right, we agree, Zabini,” and he held out his hand first. He's incredibly generous today.  
Blaise took handshake without hesitation.  
“I'm glad that we agreed.”   
“Manners be hanged! Bring the suitcase,” Nott stretched.  
Parkinson licked her lips and, as if by accident, pressed herself against Draco's thigh.   
The main thing is not to get drunk too much. Otherwise, I'll either fuck her or cursed her, Draco thought.

***  
“Kreacher!”  
There was a characteristic clap of transgression.   
Oh, I could have guessed, Hermione understood belatedly.  
“My owner called Kreacher,” the elf bowed low to Harry, and looked at him so devoutly that this gesture even made Hermione embarrassed, “Kreacher is here.”  
“Hi, Kreacher,” she smiled warmly to elf.  
“Young friend of my owner,” the elf nodded slightly.  
He is nice after all. It's good that no one criticizes him anymore. If he again called me Muggle offspring, and even in presence of Slytherins ... Hermione thought.  
“The plans changed a little, Kreacher. Go to George, as we agreed. Take the packet of whiskey from him, and say that you need not six, but twelve bottles of elven wine,” Harry gave directions, “And if he starts to be indignant, then say that I will remain in his debt,” Kreacher listened attentively, bowing his head respectfully.  
Hermione looked at the green couches for a moment. Everyone was already sitting with filled glasses there and watched with interest. She even thought that Slytherin girls with a certain condemnation looked from Zabini to Harry.  
“And further,” he continued, “Please go to the cafe, which is opposite George's, and buy there a bottle of cherry wine and bar of milk chocolate.”   
Harry handed to Kreacher the leather purse full of coins. The elf bowed low once more and, without losing time, transgressed.  
Hermione couldn't help smiling. Harry remembers.  
She ordered this wine only once. It was after the last hearing at the Ministry. Then friends just testified in the case of Malfoy Jr. And after that they firmly decided: not to note the end of all these proceedings is just blasphemy.  
She caught a glance from her friend. In his glasses reflected the flame of the fireplace, and it almost pacified. If don't turn back, they can imagine that they aren't in the dungeons at all. An ordinary evening in the company of friends.  
Hermione sat in the chair with her back to the Slytherins, trying her best not to spoil the idyll.   
“Harry, why do we need so much wine?” Ginny asked, sitting down on the arm of the sofa.  
“You’ll see, he winked at her, ruffling his hair.

***  
Another clash of transgression caused Draco another wave of irritation.   
Absolutely all things irritated him. Pansy was the one who added the oil to the fire and it seemed, that she had already fucked his brains. Now the option of "fucking" sounded like a mockery, and Malfoy struggled with great difficulty not to send her right now to hell.  
But is not that what he so longed for a few years ago? Everyone listens to him. One of the nicest purebred girls of the school struggles to draw his attention. Faculty students look at him if not with respect, then with caution.  
Yes, that's exactly what Draco wanted before. That's what his father wanted him to be. What is wrong now?  
Dissimulation.  
How could he not have noticed this before? It literally hovers in the air, so disgusting, fetidly-sweet that you want to open the windows and breathe in the cool night air. But, as Potter pointed out correctly, there are no windows in the dungeons.  
More fucking Gryffindors. The Weasley face, which looks like an idiot. His proud red-haired sister with a sharp, chinned chin. The others whicn with bulging eyes pass bottles to each other, as if they had never seen alcohol before. Smiling Potter, thanks to the elf.  
Elf! Why? It's just a servant! But even this servant looks at him with such reverence, as if he is the best seen in his life. Dobby had never looked at his master like that.  
In addition, he was annoyed by the mumbling Longbottom and "I-am-the-best-student" Granger, who casually conjures over crystal, taken off from chandelier, transfiguring it into graceful glasses. She smiled at Potter just as the elf was smiling now. With trembling and ecstasy. But what was the most infuriating - she does it sincerity.  
For the rest of his life, Draco had seen this in his address only from his mother. Granger's smile was so real that somewhere in his chest began to stir again jealousy. A vile feeling, that he had carefully hidden from the third year under the guise of indifference and a bunch of mockeries over red-and-gold.   
Fucking Gryffindors. Industrious up to loathing, deprived of any doubts about the fidelity of the choice of the party in this fucking War, happily sharing with each other how they spent last summer. But he was irritated by something else into oblivion. Something too obvious, but Draco couldn't understand what it was.  
While he was trying to get rid of his thoughts and just enjoy the rest, Potter came up to the edge of the room, holding a large paper bag in his hands. Malfoy nudged Blaise and nodded toward him.  
“Something is wrong?” Zabini walked over to the red carpet.  
“How did McGonagall say? To forget the War, to show prudence and everything like this... Let it be something like a gesture of goodwill. And truce. None of our people want to bicker with you for future year,” Potter spoke clearly through his force and handed the package to Blaise.  
Zabini, of course, didn't expect this and arched his eyebrow in surprise:  
“What’s that?”  
“Wine. For your girls. I thought the firewhiskey is too strong for them.”  
“You don't know them well,” Blaise grinned, “But thanks, anyway.”  
Potter nodded and without further ado returned to his friends, who were already leaning heavily on the drink.  
Blaise placed the package on the table and sat down next to Draco.  
“Why are you pay compliments to him?” Malfoy inquired quietly, suppressing his irritation.  
“You should think more global, buddy,” Blaise winked and drained his glass in one gulp, “Life is not limited to the school. You need to think about the future. Remember my mother.”  
Draco had heard about her. She made a fortune by marrying different men, who were killed under mysterious circumstances soon after the wedding.   
“Do you want marry Potter?” he guffawed.  
Blaise laughed.  
“Think yourself. Potter and Granger are heroes. And they will be heroes too long time,” Zabini drawled, leaning back against the sofa, “Unlike the Weasley, they don't cause disgust, so it's silly not to make a trump card out of it. It is useful to have such relations. I could choose people simpler, such as Patil or Brown, but they are too small fry. Is it interesting? And yes, nothing serious. It is enough for me to show up a couple of times with them in front of cameras, let them write in the Prophet some kind of heresy about friendship or relations. Well, I won't give up Granger as a bonus,” he smiled and looked at her again. Granger twirled a glass of wine in her hand, “Though she is a Mudblood, but this, thank Merlin, is not contagious. I need to get ahead, until no one has realized this before.”  
Draco thought about it.  
That has a ring of truth. Zabini prefers cold intention and no disgust in the means to achieve his goal. It's clever of him to first get himself hooked to Potter, because Granger's not going away from him.   
The friend's words really made sense. If Draco was not a former Death Eater and had less pride, he would have decided on such a crazy attempt. 

***  
“For the last school year!”  
“For the end of the War!”  
“For the Order of the Phoenix!”  
“For Dumbledore!”  
“For Harry Potter!”  
“For Professor Snape!”  
“For Neville!”  
Fairly drunk exclamations of friends sounded, interrupting each other and merging into a single festive cacophony.   
Hermione, not paying attention to the fact that blood had already poured from the wine to her cheeks, she happily smiled, thoughtlessly holding her glass to the hands of her friends and enjoying the ringing chin-chins. She took another small sip of the fragrant, bitterish-sweet liquid, then stood up, trying to ignore the light dizziness, and walked away from the fireplace.   
It's unpleasant to admit to yourself about this, but now, drunk with wine and the joyous noise of friends, she even remotely, but still understood why she wasn't wanted to talk about the upcoming fun. Hermione couldn't imagine how she would have agreed to this before.   
Now it all seemed so right to her that her mind didn't even try to resist that. The thought of having to sit down at the desk and listen carefully to the teachers tomorrow, was so remote and frivolous that Hermione smiled and leaned against the bookcase without thinking what books there were for the first time in her life.   
She finally felt the long-awaited relief from the fact that the usual circumspection melted in her eyes, leaving a feeling of weightlessness instead of herself, and the warm atmosphere wasn't spoiled even by the presence of Slytherins. Blissfully covering her eyes, Hermione just enjoyed what was happening, completely oblivious to the changes. Either from the drunk, or under the pressure of circumstances, the unspoken border slowly began to collapse.  
Her eyes flew open. Is this not a dream?  
Here are two unfamiliar Slytherin girls already chatting with Dean, Neville is arguing about something with Goyle, Seamus shows Knott trinkets from the store Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and Parkinson throws vicious looks at Parvati, who ... Oh, Merlin! sits on the green sofa next to Malfoy while he pats her leg lightly.   
The scene was so startling and comical at the same time that after a minute of stupor, Hermione suddenly laughed out loud, covering her lips with her palm.   
“Yeah, it looks really funny,” Zabini appeared literally from the air and stood beside her smiling, “You don't mind?”  
Hermione shook her head and lowered her hand.  
“It seems that today everything is possible,” she nodded toward Neville and Goyle.  
“Funny couple. I'm not familiar with Longbottom, but I'm sure that they have more in common with Gregory than they think.”  
“I doubt it,” Hermione shrugged, watching the arguers.  
“You prefer chocolate,” Blaise nodded to the desk, where there was almost an empty wrapper, “That's because you weren't allowed to eat it in childhood?”  
Hermione looked at him with surprise.  
“How do you know?”  
“You said your parents were dentists. It's not hard to guess.”  
“When? And ... do you know who are the dentists?” she stammered in amazement.  
“In Slug Club, did you forget? You said that these are doctors who are treating teeth,” Zabini answered smiling slightly.  
“I didn't think that you remember such things. Especially about people like me,” Hermione looked in confusion at her glass.  
“What do you mean, about people like you?” it seemed that Blaise was asking quite sincerely.  
Hermione was confused. Did she tell Daphne today about some prejudice? Maybe not all Slytherins are so bad? Professor Snape was a direct proof of this.  
“I remember almost everything you've ever said.”  
Bong! Is it possible to stun with just one phrase?  
Hermione looked up at Zabini and barely perceptibly smiled at the corners of her lips, feeling that she was covered by an almost idiotic joy, and her cheeks were even more blushing.   
But he didn't say anything supernatural! Probably Blaise is very attentive. It can’t be otherwise, he's the prefect.  
But why then did he specify exactly about her words? All his glances at the table, the toad at the station, smiles ...  
“Hermione!” Harry shouted. “Come to us, we need your opinion!”  
“Sorry,” she muttered in embarrassment and placed her glass on the table.  
“Do you think they don't mind that you're talking to me?” Blaise slightly bobbed his brows.  
Suddenly she wanted to assert herself.  
“I'm not ten years old to be looked after. And no, I don’t think so. My friends are very understanding,” Hermione looked at the boys and looked at Zabini, “At least, Harry. Well, I'll go.”  
“I hope we'll talk again.”  
Blaise grinned broadly. He seemed to have accidentally touched her hand and walked toward the talking Greengrass and Parkinson.   
The rest of the evening passed after disputes over whether Professor Krum would say tomorrow whether he was a relative of the famous Bulgarian catcher or not (most likely, there is a similarity), and during Simus's stories of vulgar jokes. The two Slytherins were sitting on the floor by the fireplace on the Gryffindor side, chuckling loudly at his jokes. If it were not their green ties, it was easy to imagine that they were with Hermione from one faculty.  
No one noticed that Parvati was missing, and Ron was suspiciously quiet until the end of the fun.


	4. The first school day

The push.

More.

One more.

Rough, deep.

The last one.

Draco leaned his forehead against the stone wall, breathing hoarsely and still tightly squeezing the thigh of the most attractive Gryffindor girl. A slender, swarthy Indian was very good, except that she smelled of strawberries too sweet.

That's so simple. He fucked this girl not undressing her, just unbuttoned his fly and pulled up the girl's skirt to the waist, in the corridor of the dungeons, behind a large column.

She was to blame; he didn't start it. Holy shit! He almost didn't have to do anything! A couple of wine glasses - and she was the first to go. Half an hour of twaddling about nothing, a few touches - and she is already whispering that she doesn't mind walking.

He couldn't understand this.

He fucked the Gryffindor girl, who intruded to him by herself. It's over.

Draco pulled away from her, put his dick out of her, almost immediately fastening his trousers. Patil adjusted her skirt and sleeking her hair, reached to him for the kiss. This is expected, but he is not so cruel as to alienate her now, whoever she is. He responded to her kiss without much enthusiasm - it will be the end of all anyway.

Parvati didn't look like a fool, although she was famous as one of the most important gossip of the school. It means that she won't blemish her reputation.

Draco wasn't mistaken.

"You won't tell anybody about this, right?" she looked into his eyes apprehensively.

"What do you take me for?"

She smiled in embarrassment and looked down.

"Well, so..."

"Go first, I'll later."

Patil quickly nodded and headed for the living room. Draco looked at her.

He looked at his watch - half past four. Surely everyone is asleep. He didn't think it was late. The wake begins after three hours. Does it make sense to go to bed?

Suppressing a yawn, Malfoy trudged into the bedroom, took his bag with books and went to the shower. Cool water gave a deceptive feeling of vivacity. To be sorry for there's no coffee in Hogwarts.

There are more than two hours left before breakfast.

I have time, he thought and stepped toward the library.

***

It was astonishing for Hermione to wake up with a wonderful mood and smiling wide. She didn't have nightmares during her sleep. There is no weakness, the head doesn't hurt at all, and it's even frustrating for her, because she wanted so much to try a new spell! She just wants to drink water.

Aguamenti! It automatically sounded in her head, and then her hand waved as usual. The glass on the bedside table was immediately filled with cool water. After making three large sips, Hermione went to the mirror.

There's no bruising under her eyes, her face is not swollen, her hair ... Well, her hair is as usual.

It seems that the consequences of the hangover, with that her parents were so actively frightened, are greatly exaggerated. Hermione washed her face quickly, brushed her teeth, combed her hair and braided her unruly hair. Why she has so much energy?

Before breakfast another twenty minutes, so that it's possible to have time to carry out the plan.

There is a book in her bag since last year. Horrible, terrible book! If she and her friends didn't need information about the Horcruxes, Hermione would never have touched this garbage. She will have to tell McGonagall that she's ashamed. Because she stole this ancient edition straight from Dumbledore's office. To apologize and say rehearsed speech, that this was the forced measure and they didn't read nothing extra.

The last look in the mirror.

The uniform is ironed, everything is relatively decent on her head, the bag is almost closed from the textbooks. She is ready.

There was no one in the living room. Either everyone has already left for breakfast, or else they are asleep. Or maybe it's just embarrassing to look at each other after yesterday. Interestingly, will the wall of principles grow again between the faculties after that evening?

Out of habit Hermione went to the transfiguration cabinet, but not to the director's office, and she didn't fail - McGonagall was preparing for the lesson.

She was lucky here, too. The director was not indignant, didn't scold her and saying that she didn't doubt her honesty, signed a paper on permission to the forbidden section, so that Hermione could safely return the book.

***

Bullshit.

Draco walked, maliciously squeezing the scribbled parchment and thinking about what he had read. He didn't learn anything new.

... focus on touching the thoughts of the enemy, cleansing your mind ... the book said.

Well, it's like Bellatrix's lessons.

... to collect energy in the solar plexus by effort of will and mentally send ...

Such a bullshit! In the solar plexus? The energy? He snorted.

... it is easiest to develop this force on the sleeper, because his mind is most open to external influences. Concentrated magician will not be difficult to catch scraps of memories of the enemy in the arms of Morpheus, however, in order to influence them, you need a long practice ...

And on whom should he practice? He absolutely didn't want to get into the wet dreams of his roommates.

Draco winced from this thought.

Spying the dreams of virgin Gregory? That's the limit!

Occlumency was given to him almost simply, but to penetrate independently into someone else's consciousness - that's another problem. The covenant Legilimens didn't go out of his head. How much easier it would be if it was like a levitation spell! Waved, said - and it's ready. But in the first year of study Wingardium Leviosa seemed so difficult ...

Draco unfolded the parchment again and stopped, reading very attentively.

... it will not be difficult to catch scraps of memories ...

The Dark Lord did this without even using his wand. Incredible level of magic! No, Malfoy wasn't envious of him. But such things are quite deservedly admired.

The blow to the chest made him shake and drop the scroll.

"Oh!" the girl cried.

Her bag opened and the books flew across the floor. Draco bent down hastily to pick up his parchment, and caught a bewildered look.

Brown eyes, upturned nose, curved eyebrows, curl of dark hair on the shoulder.

That's Granger.

"Malfoy! What are you doing here?"

He was surprised: he can't even ask what she forgot here on first day at school, miss-the-best-student! It seems, that his habit to answer this all-knowing girl with biting words, was at his instinct level, so Draco ignored her question with great difficulty.

No more conflicts, he reminded himself.

While she was nervously gathering her textbooks, Draco's eyes drew a bulky volume intertwined with faded black skin.

Secrets of the Darkest Art, the title said.

He had already seen this. But this edition looked newer in his estate library. His hand reached for the book by itself and took it. Honestly, by itself.

"Give it back!"

Granger snatched the book from his fingers with anger. For a moment there was a fright in her eyes throwing sparks.

"You've decided to hedge?" Draco stood up, putting his parchment in his pocket.

"I don't understand what you mean," she answered lifting her chin and pressed the book to her chest.

"Oh, well, don't play the fool. The Secrets of the Darkest Art?"

"It's none of your business," Granger snorted, pretending to be indifferent, "Reparo!"

The bag seams gravitated to each other like magnets. While Granger was putting her textbooks in it, Draco stared at her with genuine interest.

Indeed! She doesn't understand!

"If you've read this book, you should know that to split a soul you need to kill a person," he said insinuatingly, narrowing his eyes slightly.

Granger stood motionless.

"How do you know about the horcruxes?"

Damn it. Well, it's not difficult to put two and two together.

He didn't think about this. Clearly, they didn't write about the Horcruxes in any newspaper. Think, Malfoy, think!

He won't tell her that he held the Horcrux in his hands even before her hair began to grow in interesting places! And even more, don't give out the real reason for his interest in these dark artifacts.

"Once I leafed through this book," Draco looked straight in her eyes, hoping it would work.

"You're lying. This book has long been removed from the library by Dumbledore."

This name sounded like a slap in his face.

"You didn't answer my question."

"You didn't ask any question," Granger responded in similar vein.

"Do you know that you need to kill?"

"You decided," she hissed, singling out each word, "that I'm going to create the horcrux?"

"And where did you get such an interest to the Dark Arts?"

"Did it ever occur to you," she straightened and raised her head in exasperation, "that some people can read books just out of interest?"

Of interest, indeed.

Although Draco was already beginning to understand. And because of he didn't realize earlier, he wanted to crack his forehead. Of course, she didn't take the book. On the contrary, she carried it to the library. This means that she brought it with her.

His pride didn't allow to show his blunder. Just not in front of her. No more conflicts? It seems too late.

"You still haven't answered the question."

I'd rather she thought I am dumb, he thought, she doesn't get used to it, she's been around Weasley for so many years.

"Yes, I'm aware of the murder."

"And what do you think about this?"

"And what should any sane person think?"

Is this an allusion?

"Enlighten me, then."

Granger sighed irritably and muttered:

"Only someone who has no notions of humanity is capable for killing. Do I look like someone who would have decided to do this?!" she almost shouted the last words.

No, he thought.

"Who knows," he shrugged indifferently.

It seems that it just exasperates her.

"I'm not some Death Eater!"

A ringing silence. A frightened look of brown eyes.

If Potter had been in front of Draco, the clenched fist had already been imprinted on his jaw.

Devil's bitch, it flashed through his head until he clenched his teeth and, without turning around, headed for the exit.

***

Trying not to think about the consequences, Hermione was running to the Great Hall.

Seriously! He won't take revenge! Honestly, she was somewhat struck by how calmly Malfoy behaved himself. If he wasn't the same vile bugger she knew, then that conversation could be equated almost to everyday life. Except her last sentence, of course.

Tell such a thing to Death Eater! Hermione expected at least a "mudblood" to her address. But...nothing. It's very, very, very strange.

He was not in the hall. As Zabini. Her friends were already finishing eating, when she sat down and, glancing at her watch, quickly began to fill the plate.

"Where have you been?" Harry asked, pushing back his goblet with pumpkin juice.

"In the library," she answered automatically and looked down.

"So early?"

"It was necessary to return the book," Hermione shrugged, opening her schedule, "the very book," she specified, not wanting to stretch the conversation.

She caught her sidelong glance as Harry nodded. Perfectly. This means she can do without any details.

Double History of Magic, Transfiguration, lunch, double Defence against the Dark Art, Arithmancy, Hermione mumbled to herself.

The owls began to fly into the hall.

Pushing aside the schedule, she quickly took up breakfast, trying not to look at Harry. She doesn't even want to think about what it's like not to wait for letters, because there is no one from whom.

Suddenly, waving its wings wide, a large black owl landed gracefully in front of her. It turned so gracefully to Hermione's head and held out a paw with a letter that she involuntarily gasped.

"Don't touch it!" Harry shouted.

Catching the surprised Hermione's look, he took out his wand and directed it to the letter.

"Aparecium," waving his wand.

Nothing happened.

"Revelio! Specialis Revelio! Umbro Defektium!"

Nothing.

"Are you finished?" Hermione untied the letter, rolling her eyes.

The owl, with hoot, flew away, not even wanting to take a treat.

"It was worth to check," her friend grunted.

"You don't have to look for anything in everything, Harry. Sometimes a letter is just a letter. Don't be like Mad-Eye."

Hermione ran her eyes through the text, recognizing the handwriting from the very first line. Though Ron tried to seem indifferent to what was happening, he still gave her quick questioning looks.

Hermione folded the parchment neatly with smile and hid it in her bag, and ignoring the questioning gaze from under Harry's glasses, hurried to the lesson.

Thinking about Zabini, about the letter and about the conversation with Malfoy, she didn't even notice that two incredibly boring classes had flown by.

My goodness! Hermione Granger thinks about the boys while studying! Nobody will believe her. However, she still wrote incoherent lecture by Professor Bins, so that it could be safely called a summary.

Transfiguration lesson didn't have anything interesting either. The repetition of the material passed and there is a black and white pillow on the table instead of the raccoon, so there is time to help Harry. Ron didn't even ask her to help him, although his beast had tufts instead of ears now, like the Muggle cap of a graduate.

Twenty minutes later, Hermione was already eating puree with green peas and looking inquiringly at Harry, who was literally drilling her with his glare.

"What?" she exhaled finally.

"Don't you want to tell me something?" his green eyes looked at her bag.

"Viktor," Hermione answered shortly.

"Hmm..." Harry exchanged glances with Ron, who squeezed the fork harder than was worth it, "And what does he want?" he asked in a calm voice, but only the blind man wouldn't have noticed how great his curiosity was.

"He is now in London and he invited me to see in Hogsmeade on weekends and just to chat," Hermione answered in the same deliberate calm tone.

"I thought we'd go together."

"I doubt that this will take much time. Viktor is very tactful, you know. I'll warn him that my friends are waiting for me. I'll see you later, in Three Broomsticks, for example."

Ron stood silently and left the table. Hermione watched him sadly.

Well, what did she expect? What if he heard about Victor, he immediately calls her on a date? If jealousy worked this way, then it happened yesterday, when she squeezed out a smile for Zabini.

"Okay, let's go," finishing her orange juice, Hermione pushed the cup away from her and took her bag.

They were silent all the way to the class. Good mood immediately disappeared.

"Do not be mad at him, okay?" Harry said awkwardly near the door.

"I didn't even think," she quickly lied and went into the classroom.

She can't decide on the first step! Is she a girl or not, after all? Cooking food in the forest - okay, she's a girl. Damn it. It's very convenient.

And although Hermione has already been sympathetic to Ron for more than one year, she has grown tired of making any attempts to get close to him. Doesn't understand the hints? It's his problems!

Harry stayed with her at the same desk, what somewhat improved her mood.

After taking out the inkwell, Hermione looked up and examined the class. Zabini, catching her eyes, smiled broadly. She was sure that Ron would notice this, therefore, without hesitation for a second, she radiantly smiled him back, rejoicing that the hateful blond hair head was turned towards her by the back of his neck in that second.

Look, Ron! That's how a guy should show his interest, she thought.

Stop. Interest? This thought appeared in her head automatically.

Why not? Someone can show sympathy for her. Can, isn't it?

Harry distracted her thoughts with a gentle push to her ribs.

"What are you doing?" his eyebrows crawled up from under his glasses.

This caused a laugh. Yeah, and it's not spring now.

Without answering, she smiled maliciously and pushing him back, opened the textbook. She can't even look at them; she knew her friends like her own five fingers. It's not difficult to guess that they are exchanging puzzled looks. So be it.

When the professor entered the classroom, everyone was quiet at once.

He looked menacingly, everyone must admit. High, stately. Wide shoulders, dark hair, short trim beard, tapering to the chin; a long curved scar across his eyebrow, heavy look. He was completely dressed in black, except vinous cloak of the mantle.

Stopping at the slate, he turned to the students.

"Full name is Boryslav Velizar Krum. In the past, I am a fighter with the Dark Arts, in a different way - Auror. For the past eight years I have been Professor of subtle points of Dark Arts at the Durmstrang Institute. I am here at the personal request of the Minister of Magic. The rest you do not need to know. So..."

The professor spoke slowly, with spacing. Hermione mentally expressed gratitude to him for this, because otherwise it would be difficult to understand what he is talking about - his voice was with a hoarse, and a rough accent leaves no doubt that he is a foreigner.

She straightened her back, catching his every word.

"As I was told, you have already passed all the magical creatures required by the school curriculum. And although your study was disjointed, I can assume that if you are sitting here alive, it means that you have learned the material well and successfully passed your exams," the professor examined the students, "This whole year we will devote ourselves to studying the nastiest creatures, their behavior, psychology and protection against them. Do you have any idea what kind of creatures are talking about?"

Parvati raised her hand uncertainly. Professor Krum nodded.

"Maybe, dementors?"

"Any other assumptions?" he looked critically at the students.

"Acromantulas?" Ron asked.

The professor was silent.

"Banshee?" Seamus inquired.

"Dragons?!" Lavender gasped.

"Human," there was a low voice.

There was a rustle, many began to turn to the last desk to find out who said it. Hermione remained seated only looked at her desk. She had already heard this voice in the library this morning.

"Mister...?" the professor asked.

"Malfoy, sir."

"Ten points to Slytherin."

There were several nervous laughs in the silence.

"Unfortunately, there is nothing ridiculous in this. Over the past year, you all could be convinced that people are the most terrible, quirky and dangerous creatures you can imagine. The dragon can breathe fire on you, the dementor can take away your soul, and only a person can cover you in battle, and then strike a blow in your back."


	5. It's just a dream

It was a very, very long day. Even dissatisfied rumbling stomach didn't worry him. Therefore, Draco slipped past the Great Hall toward the dungeons without a drop of regret. He walked, thinking only about the silence of the Slytherin bedroom and soft cushion. How did he ever stand on his feet? Four hours sleeping before going to Hogwarts, then the night with Gryffindors, then little night adventure, then all morning in the library, and after - the whole day of classes.  
Oh, yes, and also Granger with her manners kinda I-am-the-most-right-person-but-you-are-fucking-killer. No, she didn't say it directly, but the message was clear. Like everyone else, she believes that his place in Azkaban. Really? But why then did her words get him so furious?  
Earlier Draco was very lenient about someone else's opinion of himself. At least after that night in the Astronomical Tower. It's good that now he didn't have any forces to get angry again.  
Sleep, sleep and sleep again.  
But going into the living room he experienced a severe disappointment. Now he can't sleep! A girl with shiny dark hair and a neat figure stands at the fireplace. She was waiting for him?  
Well, maybe it's for the best. It is impossible always to procrastinate and refer to the fact that the time for talking is inappropriate. Even if it is. Burn it all with a dragon flame!..  
“Draco, what's going on?”  
Well, without foreplay?  
Malfoy went to the fireplace with arched eyebrow.  
“What do you want me to say?” he sighed wearily and sat on the sofa.  
It would be more respectful to stay standing, but he hasn't any strength left. And for her it seems doesn't matter.  
He looked at his classmate. Trembling lips, serious look. It's good that she doesn't cry. For some time now, tears have made Draco feel terrible guilt. Now it's useless.  
“We ... We break up? Yes?”  
It's awkward, childish.  
But Draco knows Parkinson from the first year, so it's easy to catch her pretense. And this only aggravates the situation. He was sick of lying to the point of disgust.  
“Here's to be honest, Pansy. Do you really think that after the War we are still dating?”  
“I…” she hesitated and lowered her eyes, “I thought that everything will be different now...”  
Oh Merlin, play more convincingly!  
“What do you mean "different", tell me please?”  
“Now my parents won't interfere us, and...”  
He rubbed his nose irritatedly, but quickly put himself together. Pansy at once fell silent.  
“Listen. It's not just about your parents, okay?”  
She looked up at Draco with puzzled look.  
“Don't pretend that you don't understand what I mean.”  
Either she woke up acting talent, or she really didn't understand. How did he want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her well enough for she finally understands!  
“Okay. I'll hint. Carrow, the War, your behavior in court. So you understand?”  
“What does Carrow has to do with?”  
And then you don’t know!  
So, okay.  
Cockroaches in his head are not an occasion to humiliate her now, and he doesn't care that she deserves it. At least out of respect for their past, he doesn't intend to lose his temper again.  
“You should use your brains,” his quiet, calm voice as if a whip had cut through the silence.  
Carefully studying the face of his classmate, Draco finally catches awareness in her eyes. Parkinson opened her mouth and closed it immediately. Like a fish.  
She doesn't deny it. Excellent. Although we have understood this, he thought.  
There is no reason to procrastinate. It has long been time to do this. Yes, they have experienced a lot together. Damn it, Draco even thought that he felt something to her. But now every look at this girl causes more and more disgust.  
“So, the answer to your question is yes. We break up.”

***  
Hermione walked, angry at everyone around. At Blaise, who so flippantly flirted with her during Arithmancy; at Ron, who now pretended that she didn't exist; on Neville, who spilled his juice on her during the dinner. And even at Harry, who tried his best to calm her down.  
She realized that she had given Zabini an excuse; that Ron had an adequate reaction to what was happening; that Neville had touched the cup by accident, and Harry was not guilty of anything at all, rather the opposite.   
She understood all this. But for some reason it was easier to get angry.  
Immersed in these thoughts, Hermione reached the stone wall in the dungeons, and was about to say the password, when she suddenly heard:  
“So, the answer to your question is yes. We break up,” a familiar voice said.  
The voice that she wanted to hear last of all.   
“I thought you were different!” there was Parkinson squealing, “Damn Draco, where did this correctness come from? You did it yourself!”  
Cursing to herself, Hermione thought for a second. If she comes now, it will mean that she climbs into other people's affairs. They might think that she overheard! But leaving seemed a stupid idea for her.  
She thought, to break my plans, so that Malfoy could have a good time to quarrel with his girlfriend? Indeed!   
Looking around, and making sure that there was no one on the horizon, she decided to wait until the ill-fated couple dispersed. Meanwhile, the quarrel continued.  
“Don't you think that I had a few other circumstances?” Malfoy spoke calmly, but it seemed he was already at his limit.  
“I had no choice. Don't get me wrong!”  
There was a sound of breaking glass. Hermione jumped off the wall, already doubting about the correctness of her decision.  
It was necessary to just go back to dinner!  
“Don't you dare. To tell me. About the choice,” Malfoy said this with a pause, quietly, but Hermione heard every word, and his voice ...  
It had so much anger, pain, and, it seemed, even despair, that the tiny hairs on her neck stood on end.   
“And yes, I'm aware that you were in volunteers,” already calmer, but with a venomous sneer, “so don't even dare to lie to me that you were under Imperius.”  
“I did it for you! I thought you'd appreciate it!”  
“I'd appreciate that my girl tortures people? Is it normal?”   
What a twist!  
Does that mean that Malfoy didn't want being in Voldemort's errands? Hermione couldn't imagine that the arrogant Slytherin reptile wasn't delighted with his duties, that certainly included tortures. At least, the way he bragged to Parkinson, that he joined the ranks of the Death Eaters, said the opposite. But it was a long time ago.  
Behind the wall came a loud sob and quick steps to the wall where Hermione was standing. All she had managed to do was to hide behind a huge column, so that, running out Parkinson wouldn't see her.   
If she enters the living room right now, it will be tantamount to admission that she has witnessed their showdown. So Hermione decided to wait at least five minutes. But the whole evening was already awry, so she wasn't even surprised when in a couple of seconds, the following happened: behind the wall there was a sigh and an irritated voice: "Reparo!". After that behind her there were footsteps.   
She will have to enter right now.  
Fuck, fuck, fuck!  
“The strength in unity,” she uttered a low voice. The wall moved away.  
Did he disappear? Hermione raised her eyebrows puzzled, not finding Malfoy in the living room.  
This gave not only strength, but also good mood. She is waiting for a huge Arithmancy essay, the whole scroll for the Defense against the Dark Arts, and it would be nice to rewrite History of Magic abstract. She also needs to apologize to her friends.  
Having planned this evening in her head, Hermione sat down at the table and began to study.

***  
“Take the prisoners to the basement, Fenrir.”  
“Wait!” Bellatrix intervened, “Take everyone except ... Mudblood.”  
Greyback grunted happily.  
“No!” Weasley screamed, jerking as hard as he could, but there was not much use for these movements, as his hands were tightly tied with a coarse rope.  
“If she dies during the interrogation, I'll take you next,” Bellatrix promised.  
“I hope she will leave me a little bit of this girl!” Greyback dreamed, hurring the prisoners, “To bite a couple of times at least? What do you say, redhead?”  
Potter and Weasley were walked off, barking and escaping. Granger was standing straight, but her eyes were running about the room, searching for ways of salvation. They weren't.  
She understood that. And Draco understood that. He understood, and could do nothing.  
“What else did you take in my depository?!” Bellatrix squealed, hurling Granger with waving her magic wand on the floor, “Crucio!”  
A heart-rending screech reflected from the stone walls. Draco didn't know how much time had passed. Maybe ten minutes, maybe an hour, or maybe an eternity.  
“Please! I didn't take anything… Please…” Granger groaned without even trying to get up. Her hand is disfigured, her eyes are flushed, blood bleeds from her bitten lip.  
“What else did you take? What else did you take there? Tell the truth, or I swear I'll slaughter you with this dagger!” it seems Bellatrix didn't even try to hear her, “ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!”  
Malfoy had heard a lot of screaming, but never heard such scream.  
He did his best not to look, and yet, unable to restrain himself, he caught for a moment the glance of glistening brown eyes.  
Desperate. Full of pain. Begging ...  
In a silent cry, Draco sat on the bed, inhaling the cool air noisily. The Mark was scratched irritatedly, as if it was just on his arm that the vile "mudblood" had been carved out.  
Dream. It's just a dream. The same. Again.  
Out of my head! In a silent whisper, hysterical notes were heard.  
Grabbing the crumpled blanket, Draco held it in his face, erasing the sticky sweat from his forehead.   
It was foolish to believe that all of his nightmares would end in Hogwarts. Previously, he associated them with staying at his Manor. It seemed that even the walls were soaked with people's cries. But apparently, these cries were much deeper - in his mind. Forever.  
It's good that he woke up too quickly not to see the continuation: the mountains of corpses and his mother and father, twisting under tortures, alternately. And submissive, unavoidable punishment for himself.  
This dream he already learned by heart and he didn't want returning to this nightmare. Draco sat on his bed and glanced at his watch.  
Four in the morning.  
Fuck! That's great!  
Go back to the library again? It is unlikely that there will be something new, but he can look for a solution to another problem ...  
Reflecting on what to do in the remaining time, Malfoy washed and dressed. It would be nice go to the shower, but waking his fellow students is not the best idea, and password from the prefect's bathroom is now unknown. By the way, it would be nice to know it from Blaise.  
Thoughts about Zabini again brought Draco back to Granger.   
Only someone who has no notions of humanity is capable for killing. I'm not some Death Eater! Thin voice sounded in his head.  
He gripped his bag irritatedly and slipped out of the bedroom.  
A plan of action has already been formed in his head. The dead don't sleep, do they? This means that he can walk to an old friend. She is able not only to listen well, but also to keep secrets.  
But going down into the living room, Draco stood on the last step of the stairs, unable to make even a step further. For a moment it seemed that he was back in his nightmare, when he suddenly felt a strange relief, and felt that his anger was letting go.  
Opposite the burning fireplace, on the arm of the red couch, rested a head with a familiar crow's nest. In the light of the coals, her hair was dripping with copper, her chest rising with measured breathing, and at her feet purring an ugly red cat.   
Draco couldn't understand what exactly made him stop and stare at this picture. Is this the norm for Gryffindors to fall asleep after study like that? Hardly. But for Granger it's okay.  
Grinning at his thoughts without knowing why, he took a few steps toward the red half of the living room. The sight was really unusual. Although, rather unwonted.  
On the carpet lie the scribbled and crumpled parchments, several books lie on the sofa with a careless pile, and the opened one is on her naked legs. Stop. Naked?  
Draco looked closely. It seemed to him?   
No. Indeed, Granger wore something that looks like pajamas. Blue short shorts and white T-shirt, not covering her shoulders at all. Her slender legs are stretched to the fireplace, one hand rests on the book, the other on the floor, next to it there is her wand and broken pen.   
No Slytherin girl appear in the common room like this. Apparently, the red-gold have their own ideas of propriety.  
Zabini is not a fool. She's really nice, it automatically swept through his head.  
Really, Draco is not fourteen to deny it again. Looking at her face, he noted that even small drops of ink on her nose didn't mar this sight. Taking another quiet step, he stopped, because she shuddered and grabbed the book. Her thin fingers, until the knuckles whitened, clung to the binding, and a restless crease appeared between her brows.  
Is she also having a nightmare?  
Granger jerked, releasing the book from her hands. The book fell to the floor with a hollow slap.   
“Take the medallion off...” she whispered.  
Draco was already ready to slip away not to be seen for such a shameful occupation as watching the sleeping one, but she didn't wake up.  
... it is easy to develop this force on the sleeper, because his mind is most open to external influence ... The learned lines rushed by themselves in his head.  
Pushing his conscience away, Draco took out his wand. Previously, he would have been justified by the fact that he wants to avenge her today's remark, but in fact, he just parried curiosity.  
I don't care if she will catch me. She already thinks of me as a castaway society, reassured himself with these thoughts, he drew rune learned by heart with his wand in the air.   
Nothing happened.  
He tried a couple of times. The result was the same.  
Cursing, Draco realized that it was hardly a matter of concentration. Probably this spell is too complicated to get non-verbal on the first try.   
Glancing at Granger again, he concentrated and whispered:  
“Legilimens.”  
The push in the lower abdomen suggested that everything turned out.   
Strange feeling. It's like he dived into the cool dark water, going deeper and farther.  
Everything turned dark for a moment, and the next second he stood in a large tent, similar to the one in that he spent the night before the Quidditch World Cup. But this tent was much cheaper and shabby.  
It was raining, and Granger was standing, tear-streaked, next to the bristled Potter and the disgustingly sickly Weasley.   
“Don’t lie to me!” redheaded suddenly screamed, and Draco winced unexpected, “you've said the same thing, you've said that you were disappointed, that you thought we had something to grab for, except ...”  
“I didn't say that, Harry, not like that!” Granger desperately squeaked.  
Potter and redheaded began to yell at each other, but Draco didn't understand the meaning of this quarrel. Suddenly they both pulled out their wands, and Granger seemed to wake up:  
“Protego!” she cried, and an invisible shield separated them from each other. The spell power caused all them to back away for a few steps.   
“Leave the Horcrux,” Potter muttered.  
Redheaded threw the chain from his neck and threw the locket to the nearest chair. Then he looked at Granger:  
“What are you going to do?”  
“What do you mean?”  
“Will you stay or what?”  
“I…” she pronounced painfully, “Yes…yes, I’ll stay. Ron, we promised to go with Harry, promised to help ...”  
“I got it. You choose him.”  
“No, Ron…Please! Don’t go, don’t go!”  
“Don’t go,” loudly flashed somewhere very close, and Draco took a step back, suddenly back in the living room.  
“He's gone ...” Granger whispered and her eyes flew open.


	6. Self-consciousness

She saw the dream about Ron again. The way he left her with Harry. In the forest.  
Ron…  
So funny, a little ridiculous, nice, sympathetic, kind. The traitor.  
Hermione had been trying not to think about it for six months. Who cares, what he did then? In the end he came back! He destroyed the Horcrux, wept on her shoulder after Fred's death, he was with her until the end.   
Kissed her.  
No, this is definitely not the worst dream that could ever be.   
Probably, she saw him in her dream because he began to ignore her. Hermione once read that dreams are only echoes of our thoughts or information received earlier. Therefore, the dream with Ron participation is quite expected. Although, it would be better to dream about how they, for example, walk around Hogsmeade or celebrate Christmas in the Burrow.  
When she woke up, she didn't immediately understand where she was. For the first second it even seemed that she was in the house in Grimmauld Place, because she wasn’t sleeping in her bed. And when was the last time she had to sleep not in a bed? Even in the tent there was such a luxury.  
Living room ... Damn it! Stop. What time is it? Hermione thought convulsively and raised her head to look at her watch, but instead she saw a high shadow a couple of steps from her sofa.  
She didn't even have time to think about what she was doing. The habit developed before automatism. If you see the enemy, then grab your wand.  
Malfoy didn't even shudder.   
He didn't turn away. Didn't grin. Didn't call to her something bad.   
He just continued standing and watching. Too close. Too carefully.  
“What are you doing?” she silently asked with her slightly hoarse voice after sleeping.  
“And what does it look like? I’m watching.”  
Hermione picked up the book and laid it on her legs. She sat down more evenly.  
What do you want? Why are not you sleeping? Why are you looking at me? What are you up to? these questions flashed in her head, but:  
“Why?” like a logical question, but it sounded somehow stupid.  
On his expressionless face, one eyebrow rose inquisitively.  
“Is it normal for you to make such a mess?” Malfoy nodded toward the parchments.  
Hermione looked at her things.  
Okay, she squandered it, what's that to him? Why should she justify herself?  
Slytherin sofas on the other side! She wanted to shout it as loud as possible.  
Considering that it would be smarter to remain silent, and not to arrange scenes, as the last time, Hermione bit her tongue. In addition, judging by Malfoy's intonation, his question was rhetorical.  
She stood up and put the book on the sofa. Her eyes were already a little used to the semi-darkness, and Hermione was finally able to see him better: tired searching look, dark circles under his eyes, sharp cheekbones, hair in disorder.   
All this was in such contrast with the way she remembered him, that somewhere in the depths of her soul even pity was awakened. Hermione has seen Malfoy like this only during the War. Unless, his ironed clothes now have no dirt, no blood.  
“What are you doing here?”  
This question seems to have put him at a dead end. Just for a moment.  
Looking at the fireplace, he replied reluctantly:  
“What's it to you? I couldn’t sleep.”  
She snorted. By the way her brain began to think, Hermione realized that she was finally awake. Sighing, she put down her wand. He won't attack him, really!  
“Okay,” she answered and threw a mantle over her shoulders, shivering from the cold.  
Well, what else to say?  
There was an uncomfortable silence. Trying to hide her embarrassment from this situation, Hermione began to fold the books, while Malfoy was thoughtfully watching her actions without hesitation.   
Oh! She knows this stare. Usually it happens when you are thinking hard about something.  
“Malfoy, are you okay?” she looked at him, overpowering herself.  
“Why do you ask?” Malfoy asked slightly surprised, turning to her.  
“You look tired,” Hermione shrugged and went to the bookcase.  
“You didn’t answer my question.”  
She turned around. Déjà vu?  
“What question?” she crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.  
“Why do you care about me?” Malfoy took a step toward her.  
“Your behavior seems strange to me, that's all,” Hermione took a step back and clumsily shrugged her shoulders.  
Unlike Ron and Harry, I'm not going to hide this, she thought.  
“And how should I understand this?” he asked quietly, his head slightly bent.  
What kind of tone? Where is his usual rudeness?  
“I have many reasons,” she again shrugged, hoping that this gesture looks indifferent, like her words, “The fact that you returned to school didn't surprise me at all. But your behavior is alarming. You behave yourself... quiet strangely. Not like before. I would write off everything on the outcome of the War, but I strongly doubt that your views on life have changed.”  
Malfoy grinned.  
Finally, something familiar appeared in his behavior. This very slight gesture seemed to put everything in its places.  
“You're right, my views have not changed at all.”  
Saying it, like an insult, he turned around and left the living room.  
Despite this gesture, Hermione didn't overlook, that he didn't answer about how he feels himself.

***  
The idiot.  
I couldn’t sleep. Why do you care about me? Draco was mentally mocking himself, while walking rapidly from the dungeons.   
Why did he talk with her ... this way?   
He was worse than Blaise.  
Not even Zabini! Worse than beggar Weasley!  
He also stared at her, as if she were the eighth wonder of the world. Many people now look at Granger this way. Sure! The heroine of the War, the lover of one of the world's best catchers, the girlfriend of the Chosen One. That's how she was called by newspapers. But Draco didn't want to be involved in this drooling herd.  
Would they know that this heroine wears stupid plush shorts and moans about redheaded in her dreams ... That's it! That's the reason why he was standing there like statue! The anger at his sugary cues faded into the background at the thought that he was able to penetrate someone else's consciousness and he wasn't noticed by someone.   
Draco was so surprised at how easy it was to get into someone else's dream that he didn't even try to get deeper. And to be sure… In the first seconds he felt a terrible confusion. He didn't expect that it would be so strikingly. Most likely, he expected some flashes, blurry pictures, fragments of memories.  
Now came the regret. He could get to the bottom of the reasons for her nervousness, or find loopholes, for Blaise to make a pass at her. His friend would be in his debt ...  
It's strange that Granger didn’t feel his presence. Apparently, she was deeply involved in the quarrel between Potter and redheaded. And she was crying... Was it really so important for her Weasley to stay?  
It’s unusual feeling. Look at her, know what she dreamed, and realize that she doesn't know what happened.  
It's somewhat ... fascinating.  
Presumably, after today she won't allow herself to fall asleep like this, in front of everyone. Of course I can try to get into her head, when she is awake, I just need to catch a good moment, he thought.  
When he studied Occlumency, Bellatrix often penetrated surreptitiously his thoughts. Then Draco seemed that he was just thinking about something, although the pictures in his head were slightly more saturated than real memories. So, without knowing in advance about the attempt on your brains, you can't understand anything.  
On the other hand, he wasn't sure at all that he would be able to do this unobtrusively. It's amazing how quickly Granger got her bearings and grabbed her wand.   
She understood everything, now she will curse me, that's what Draco thought about in that second. But apparently, grabbing a wand is her instinct.   
Draco grinned. He knows this condition.  
And that's what surprised. He thought that if she realized who in front of her, Granger would start if not to scream, then at least be embarrassed about her appearance. It's strange, but she didn't even try to cover herself with something or to show that she feels uneasy. She didn't wear her mantle at once.  
Is it so habitual for her to be naked? He thought.  
Recalling her dream, Draco still couldn't imagine that she was calmly standing like this beside Potter or Weasley. Surely it was.  
Of course, everything became clear about the Horcruxes. Now, to replace the annoyance that Granger showed her legs to Weasley, there was a disappointment in himself, because all that time the golden trio knew how to destroy the Dark Lord.   
With great effort Draco drove away memories of what a fool he was when he tried to help them. It's good that they didn't understand anything, and the younger Weasley didn't remember anything.   
He wondered how many details he can learn in this way? For some reason, he wanted to see some memories of himself.   
I should try one more time, he decided confidently, rising to the second floor.  
What else consists in this clever head with a crow's nest? For some reason, he wanted intolerably to find something personal, and let him not be able to use it for his own purposes, Draco simply experienced an elementary curiosity. Yes, and more practice won't be unnecessary.  
In addition, the realization that he finally (almost from the first time) mastered Legilimens (superficially) was intoxicatingly sweet.   
Smiling at his thoughts, Draco opened the familiar door and called quietly:  
“Myrtle?”

***  
Folding the books in her bag, Hermione was glad that despite the night incident, she decided to have some more sleep. She felt well rested, and the joy was clouded only by what she had overslept.  
This means, she will have to breakfast very quickly.  
As expected, there was no one in the living room. For the second day in a row. Even somehow offended. She wondered how her fellow students behave themselves in the mornings?  
That is OK. Another year to come to find it out.  
Hardly having forgotten her wand, Hermione ran to the Great Hall.   
Again double Defense, Herbology, lunch, doubles Runes, Charms, she repeated to herself, bypassing especially talkative portraits, and I need to go to the owlery. I haven't answered Victor, and the weekend is the day after tomorrow.  
It was very lively in the corridors. While Hermione was running for breakfast, now and then she caught curious glances, mentally sympathizing to Harry.  
Her friend endures it since the day he knew that he is a magician. Constant gossip, greedy attention from the female audience, and envious and admiring - with the male. Hermione hated it.  
She remembered how just one hour after the end of the War, the school was already flooded with reporters, photographing everything. These mournful smiles, encouraging looks, caring tone ... And that's all for the sake of a burning desire to find out from the shocked students the details of the battle for particularly high-profile headlines. But the upper hand of arrogance is when a low reporter with a sharp nose and small, beady eyes approached Molly Weasley to find out what she felt when she saw her dead son. Disgusting.  
If Dumbledore were alive, he would have driven everyone out, Hermione didn't doubt it.   
Now the interest to her, to Ron and Harry was multiplied at least ten times. It seemed that all will end with the forever running photographers after them. Certainly not! It seems that everyone tried, if not to say hello or touch, then necessarily discuss, embellish all their achievements. If only half of what they gossip was true, then it was not so annoying.  
Hermione looked at her feet, ignoring curious whispers around. Trying to concentrate her thoughts only on her homework on Defense against the Dark Arts, she didn't even immediately notice how she gently imprinted herself on someone's chest.   
With all her might, hoping that this wasn't the one she had been thinking about since morning, Hermione looked up and saw a red-and-gold tie. Her shoulders relaxed.  
“Oh, Harry.” she smiled.  
“Hermoine! I was just looking for you. I need your help. Now!”  
“What happened?” confused look of her friend spoke for himself.  
“Slughorn… Strengthening Solution… Your help…” Harry incoherently puffed.  
“What’s wrong with it?”  
“I need you to check everything. After all, if I fail, Slughorn will understand that I cheated, and ...”  
Hermione knocked Harry on his shoulder and frowned.  
“Hey! For what?”  
“You can't scare me like this! I thought something serious had happened!”  
“Hermione!..” Harry frowned, rubbing his bruised place.  
“It can wait? I wanted to have breakfast.”  
“Actually, it's urgent, I just ... He won't understand if I fail and this potion, its composition is not very complicated, but I have a lot of questions, and ...”  
Hermione interrupted him.  
“There is no Potion class today, and I'm actually going to ...”  
“Here’s!” Ginny ran up to the doors of the Great Hall and shoved into Hermione’s hands a paper bag and without giving her a second thought immediately began to chatter, “Thank you for what you agreed! He's really backward monstrously! I packed some food here, you won't stay hungry! And I need to catch up with it too. There was no normal studying last year, you know. Oh, you help us so much!”  
Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously.  
“Firstly, I didn't give my consent. Secondly,” she began to bend her fingers demonstratively, “it can wait. The potion composition is elementary, any sophomore can make it, so it won't take much time. Thirdly…”  
Harry shot a desperate look at Ginny. Now there was no doubt left.  
“What are you up to?” Hermione looked inquiringly at her friend, with hands on her hips.  
Ginny nodded quickly to Harry, and Hermione suddenly felt that her legs come off the floor, and her belly set against something hard. Bag of food dropped on the floor.  
Flushed with indignation, she cried out:  
“Harry! Put me on the ground immediately!”  
Leaning over in half on her friend's shoulder, Hermione dangled her legs desperately, not even realizing at once that this wasn't the best idea, because her skirt rode up foully.   
Seeing the world around her upside down, she continued to be exasperated loudly, no longer caring that the whole corridor was now staring at them. Ginny walked as if nothing special was happening, but from time to time she looked sympathetically at Hermione.  
“Where are you carrying me, damn you all?!” Hermione screamed, scorching her girlfriend's eyes. She would have done this with Harry, but she saw only his legs.  
She lifted her head. Before her eyes, the portraits and faces of students flashed quickly, smeared with rapid movement. Everyone were giggling unbelievingly. Tomorrow it will be the main news, for sure. It's terrible to imagine what details will be attributed to this incident.  
Ginny and Harry seemed didn't care about it.   
“Harry! James! Potter! Let me go! Immediately!” Hermione even pounded her friend on the back with her fists in despair.  
Suddenly he stopped.  
“Oh, that is unnecessary. It's the excellent view from here,” she couldn't see who said that, but this mocking voice she learns from a thousand ones.   
Hermione cursed everything around her blushing.   
But first of all she regretted that she had put knee-highs on in the morning, and not tights.


	7. The quarrel

Near the window in front of the Defense against the Dark Arts office a sleepy fly was knocking against the pane. Corridors, filled with a hubbub of lively students, sounded exactly the same as on any other day. And for the first time Draco wasn't annoyed by this noise, but enjoyed his wonderful mood. The delight of a successful spell and the ridiculous Granger appearance still caused a smile, despite his sleepiness.   
In addition, he was amused by the Myrtle. Those who say that she only knows how to cry - they don't know how to talk to people at all. Well, or to former people, almost people. As Snape said, the imprint of soul which left the earth… It seems so.  
Whatever it was, she met him very socially and even fooled him a couple of times. It was lubberly, but sincerely, like a child. He likes it in her. Myrtle Warren was frank, not embarrassed by him at all and wasn't afraid to look stupid. Probably because of Draco never laughed at her.  
In addition, the time had passed when he had to talk riddles. He remembered that day when he had seen her at the first time. Well, when he had heard her.  
The Vanishing Cabinet didn't want to work with living beings persistently, and no matter how much Draco tried to move through him the stolen birds, frogs and even flobberworms, which he stole from Hagrid - they all simply disappeared. What happened to them, he didn't know to this day. The fact that they are dead is understandable. The question is, where did they go?  
Malfoy had read the many books about inventions for camouflage for the war, about repairing old artifacts and even rubbish to repair Muggle furniture. There was a lot of information about the use of these fucking cabinets, and so it is negligible about what to do if it became faulty.  
Merlin, what a despair it was!  
The last thing he remembered before the first time to lose his temper was Flitwick's lesson, who took scores from Slytherin. This happened when Draco was practicing Agumenti and filled several professor's books with a stream of water. At that moment, the main idea was to throw Crucio to the little man or to cry like a girl. Yeah, dreadful set of emotions.  
Draco just ran away from the lesson. Instead of going to the Room of Requirement, that was already nauseous, he went to the toilet - the nearest room, where he could bring his thoughts in order.   
Nothing works out… I can’t, I can’t… These thoughts persistently rushed through his head.  
He is alone.  
There is no use from Gregory and Vincent. They are only capable of guarding. But to expect from them brilliant solutions to problems would be a fatal stupidity. In addition, no one knew about his task, and it only got worse. The Dark Lord expressed himself very definitely, ordering him to keep his mouth shut.  
But, damn it! Draco was sixteen years old! And he had to betray the greatest wizard? It is unthinkable!  
He was standing and squeezing the edges of the sink, and he was trying to suppress the sounds that flew from his throat. They sounded humiliating - something between sobbing and choking.  
It's unclear what the ghost girl did in the men's room, but suddenly a very quiet and sympathetic voice came from behind:  
“Has something bad happened?”  
From the surprise Stunning Spell flew to the ghost.  
Despite this trick, Myrtle didn't fly away. Filled with self-pity, Draco slumped down the wall to the floor and laid out everything that worried him. Of course, without names and details, but the general idea could be fully grasped.  
After a couple of months of irregular communication, he caught himself telling her about his childhood, his family, his friends, that he was in a "bad company.". Without names again, but it seems, Myrtle understood everything perfectly. She was trying to keep a positive attitude, although the Dark Lord was that person, who had killed her.   
When she told him about her death, Malfoy didn't realize at once that she was the girl who died in the year of the opening the Chamber of Secrets. And when he had got it, he couldn't calm his hysterical laugh for a long time.   
Just think about it! The corpse of muggleborn youngster helped him not to go insane, while neither friends nor his girlfriend even knew about his frustration. After that Myrtle didn't talk to him for about a month. This was the last time he pronounced the word "muggleborn".   
And today this splinter since the early hours has already managed to raise his spirits. Draco boasted to her that he had mastered a very complex spell that wasn't part of the school curriculum and, having specified that it wasn't related to Dark Arts, listened almost to the poem, how clever and wonderful he was. If any of the Slytherins said such a thing, Draco would surely get mad, but Myrtle ... It's Myrtle.  
Draco was so obsessed with her that he even forgot about breakfast. Over the past day, he had already skipped two meals and his stomach didn't forget to remind him about it with discontented rumbling. But this is bad, he was very expecting to gain weight while he is at Hogwarts.  
He was pulled out from his thoughts by the cry of a girl. Judging by the context, she was screaming at Potter. Draco was already mentally painting picture in his head, as Potter clutches the Gryffindor girl and thrusts his hands under her skirt.   
Grinning at the absurdity of his imagination, Malfoy crossed his arms over his chest and leaned his waist against the windowsill. The real picture of what happened was astonishing, except that his jaw didn't fall on the floor.  
The youngest Weasley came to the door of the classroom. Her cheeks burned, but not like her brother's cheeks, not stained. You could even call it nice, if not her glinting stare with anger. Surprisingly, but otherwise she remained calm, although Draco was sure - she was just furious.  
Just behind her came Potter, carrying ... Granger?!   
Yes, Granger.  
On his shoulder.  
Potter's gaze didn't express anything, or maybe Draco couldn't see this because of his glasses. But his face was tense, but obviously not from weight. As if he was trying to figure something out. They passed by, not paying attention to Draco.  
To be sure!  
A foolish chuckle echoed in the depths of the corridor. Fortunately for Granger, there was no one else but them near the classroom. Although, probably half students of Hogwarts have seen this.  
“Harry! James! Potter! Let me go! Immediately!” she squeaked and began to beat Potter on his back with her tiny fists. For a split second, Draco suddenly felt that he also wanted to beat him. No girl deserves such treatment, especially in public. Even Granger. Stop… Why “even”? She is the same as everyone else.  
Draco wondered what happened to them, if Potter went to such extreme measures?   
It's none of my business, Draco mentally reminded himself again.  
Before the classroom's door, Weasley turned to Potter and looked inquiringly at him. He stopped, almost crashing into her. They didn't say a word, but the tension in their eyes was almost palpable.  
Draco didn’t look at them.  
His stare was drawn by Granger's slender legs, freely hanging in the air. Her skirt was invitingly lifted up, exposing the smooth skin of the inner side of her thighs. Unfortunately, only a few inches weren't enough to bare her buttocks, but that was enough for any guy who saw such a picture couldn't take his eyes off.   
Probably the first time Draco was grateful to the creator of school robes, because they are wide enough to hide the salience growing in his trousers. And although he has already seen her legs and even admitted that they are very, very good, but in this perspective? It's time to send it to a good mood.  
With difficulty in suppressing the temptation to ask Potter to lift her higher, Draco finally caught his eye. And he looked confused. Very, very confused. Even ... begging? It looks like that.  
Yes, perhaps it would be more noble to remain silent, so Granger couldn't find out who else had witnessed this ... uh, situation. But Draco suddenly remembered their nightly conversation and, before he could stop himself:  
“Oh, that is unnecessary. It's the excellent view from here.”  
Like that. Let her believe that he is still the same shit she knew. He has absolutely no desire to prove to anyone the opposite. Probably, it's a matter of pride. Either let them see for themselves, or let them go to hell.  
Granger stopped kicking, and her legs hung limp. Draco would have given a lot to see her face now. Suddenly the younger Weasley turned sharply to him and threw a murderous glance.  
“Keep your dirty thoughts to yourself!” she barked, but nevertheless straightened her friend's skirt, as if she had just noticed this unpleasant for Granger, and obviously an attractive circumstance for Draco. However, the angle still pleased, so he just grinned.   
Weasley looked toward the corridor and narrowed her eyes viciously.  
“Harry,” she said, without even looking at Potter.  
He nodded and went into the classroom quickly with Granger, who seemed to swallow her tongue. At least since Draco made it clear that he was there too, she didn’t make a sound.  
Following the Weasley's stare Malfoy saw her brother, who was standing motionless in the corridor. His face was whiter than chalk and he didn't know where to put his disproportionately long hands. Crossed it on his chest (probably for self-confidence), he looked at his sister. She put her hands on her hips and headed for him.  
Comic picture.  
Approaching him, she pushed Weasley in his chest with all her might almost made him lose his balance.   
“Are you out of your mind, idiot?!” she cried out.  
Draco didn't hear what Weasley said, but judging from his feeble expression, he didn't understand what he was accused of. It seems his sister also believed that she needed to spoon-feed everything.  
Suppressing an annoyed sigh, she cast a quick glance at Draco and lowered her voice, so that now he heard only scraps of sentences:  
“…Brown…not enough for you…You’re an ass!...she likes you…”  
“…Zabini…”  
“…just a conversation!...She doesn’t care…”  
“…they almost hugged…”  
“…Hermione didn't get her tongue in his mouth…Hannah…in public…”  
“I didn’t!...”  
The readheaded's face began to become stained again. Disgusting.  
“…you’re such an idiot…the letter…”  
“…Crum!” Weasley blurted out suddenly.  
His sister struck him on his shoulder, urging him to act quietly, but he only sniffed discontentedly.  
The students were already slowly getting to the classroom. Draco looked at his watch. The time flew by quickly.   
“Where have you been?” Blaise approached him and also leaned against the windowsill. The other Slytherins remained standing at a distance. Pansy turned her back on them pointedly and continued to talk with Daphne, who cutely smiled at her, twisting her curl over her finger.   
“In the library,” Draco automatically lied.  
No matter how he and Zabini communicate, he didn't intend to devote him to such personal affairs as a conversation with ghost in a girls' toilet. It's unlikely that Blaise realized this.  
“In the library? Have you been looking for Granger?” the friend grinned.  
Malfoy noticed from the corner of his eye that Daphne barely turned her head in their direction.   
Either Blaise is blind, or pretends not to notice her, Draco thought.  
“No,” Draco grinned, “and you?”  
“She was not at breakfast. I was in the library, but she was not there either,” Zabini streched himself, “and you, too.”  
“We missed each other, probably,” Draco again lied, not batting an eye, “In any case, Granger was …busy today. With Potter and his girlfriend,” he shrugged indifferently.  
“Have you seen her?”  
“She’s in the classroom.”  
By the way. If you want to pick her up, I advise you to hurry, because if I understand correctly, then Weasley has already took note of her, Draco thought. It's worth it to say, but Draco kept silent for some reason.  
It’s all because of her legs.  
Its image was still in front of Draco's eyes. Straight, slender, with smooth skin... He wondered how it feels if to touch it?  
“Everyone goes to the class, quickly,” professor Crum drew himself as if from the air and opened the door.  
Suddenly, Draco thought that the professor reminded him Snape. The only difference was that even with such a threatening appearance, the students felt sympathy for him for some reason. Although, no offense to Severus, Crum didn't distinguish students and treated everyone equally graciously.  
Students trudged lazily to the classroom. At the door Draco heard the voice of younger Weasley again behind him:  
“Which one of you is the man, after all? Don't spoil everything again.”  
Draco couldn't help laughing, for that he received a fierce look from redheaded. Apparently, he's not capable at all without his sister's tips.  
“I have to go,” Blaise whispered quickly and headed to Granger.  
While Draco was laying out textbooks and scrolls on the table, Zabini had already chatted with her and sat down at one desk with her, to a general perplexity.   
It seems that he will be okay without my advices, Draco thought.  
Draco looked at Weasley. Noticing that Granger was sitting with Blaise, he broke his pen and glared at his sister angrily. Potter squeezed his elbow and whispered something.  
Like children, I swear, Draco thought again.  
A minute later the professor stood at the board and all at once became quiet.

***

What the hell are they doing? Hermione thought, scowling feverishly at the parchment. Of course, the lesson was very interesting, but she understood the subject only superficially. It seems that she will have to catch it up on her own.   
When she saw Ginny walking toward Ron, and Harry immediately took her away, everything fell into its places. Hermione didn't know what exactly happened, and honestly, she didn't want to know it. It's obviously, that Ron did something, and the guys just didn't want her to see that. Or perhaps, he planned to express everything that he thinks about her ...  
And all would be okay if she wasn't depressed because of quarrel with Harry. Their first quarrel!  
Of course there were some minor conflicts between them in the past, but they have never cursed seriously. Except their third year of education. Now it seemed childish. And though it took not more than half an hour, Hermione already felt an obsessive longing. She could not to talk with Ron for months, and she felt nothing more apart from mild sadness and some kind of dry disappointment, but then everything fell from her hands literally.  
And she was really sorry only for Harry. He wanted to do better ...  
Stop. It's too early to justify him!   
For the time that they spent together, when Ron left them, Hermione first realized how attached to Harry.   
Her thoughts were torn off by Malfoy's malicious glare. And how could she forget?!  
Yes! That's who she really was angry with, although she understood that he was, in fact, not at all to blame for standing there. But he could have remained silent!  
What did he forget at the classroom when there was so much time before the lesson?! Hermione thought.  
He appeared there at the very moment when she ... Hermione suddenly blushed and hastily buried herself in her abstract.  
How much has he seen?  
Damn. Their clash in the library, a strange night talk, and now this... Yeah, she's one of the smartest female students and she always makes herself an idiot just before him.   
Excellent!  
Hermione squeezed her pen so tightly that she didn't immediately feel the broad palm all on her arm. And as she realized, she shuddered a little and looked at her neighbor.  
“Are you okay?” Zabini asked softly, moving his eyebrows.  
Hermione shrugged vaguely and removed her hand unobtrusively.  
“Do you want me to talk to him?” he asked sympathetically.  
“To whom?” Hermione whispered quietly, staring at her parchment.  
“To Weasl… To Ron.”  
“About what?” she was surprised.  
“About what was happened. Well, in the Great Hall.”  
Hermione frowned and looked at Ron. He was sitting, red as a tomato, and twirled his wand in his hand, glaring sullenly at the blackboard.  
“About him and her… Abbott, it seems,” Zabini specified.  
So here's the thing ...  
Hermione breathed out noisily. In her temples suddenly pounded.  
Really ... again? Like before, with Lavender? Hermione squeezed her lips, trying to help herself not to cry.  
“It’s not necessary,” Hermione decided not to show Blaise, as if she not aware of what had happened, “we are just friends with him and he is free to do what he wants,” it's good that she spoke in a whisper, otherwise her voice could break.  
Just friends who have been close for so many years, we were jealous of each other, starting with the fourth year, and we kissed ... Nothing special, she thought.  
Judging by Zabini's sympathetic look, he has understood everything, and delicately said nothing more, for what Hermione was grateful to him. She didn't look at Ron deliberately, but she constantly caught Malfoy's glances.  
If only he will dare to say anything to her! She could cast some unpleasant spell - it was unbearably to vent the anger upon someone.   
Huh, straight road to the psychiatric hospital ...  
Hermione has heard from her parents what it was like. But in fairness, it should be noted that in St Mungo's Hospital much more pleasant than in the Muggle hospitals.  
As soon as the bell announced the end of the lesson, Hermione jumped up from her seat and, zipping her bag on the way, ran out of the class, completely not caring that from the outside it probably looks completely un-heroic.   
Find yourself a new heroine! She wanted to shout it to the face of everyone who stared at her.  
Draco looked at Hermione and noted that Blaise, judging by the expression of triumph on his face, was pleased with the situation.


End file.
